


Leave Out All the Rest

by KaedeRavensdale



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Bad Acting, Crack pairings are my bread and butter, Espionage, Infiltration, M/M, it's late and im bad at tags, turning the tables
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2019-11-05 09:44:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 34
Words: 153,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17916452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaedeRavensdale/pseuds/KaedeRavensdale
Summary: For a moment he could only stare at her, uncomprehending. “I’m afraid that I don’t understand.”“Then I’ll lay it out in simple terms.” She said. “In order to bring about a final end to the Alliance, Nathanos, I need you to betray me.”





	1. Lion Trap

**Author's Note:**

> This one isn't top priority for me to update at the moment as i need to finish up Blood of Lions' redux and the sequel to When it Rains but i will be throwing up something along the lines of a chapter a month or so. This idea wouldn't leave me alone so i figured the least a could do was put a pin in it. Here we are.

               Baine Bloodhoof had wrestled once before with the prospect of removing his people from the Horde in spite of the oath of friendship made between the Tauren and the Orcs. That had been under Garrosh, when Vol’jin’s Darkspear and Varian’s Alliance had been present and willing to come to their aid. Hellscream had been brought to heel, Vol’jin had been elected in Thrall’s place and for a time it had seemed as if all would be well. But then the Legion had come and Vol’jin, with his dying breath, had elected Sylvanas Windrunner as his successor. Leaving was no longer an option as there was no way through which he could accomplish it without bringing down her unfettered wrath upon his people. And in the wake of what the Horde had done to Teldrassil, in spite of his personal friendship with Anduin Wrynn, there was no reasonable expectation that the Alliance wouldn’t turn their backs on them should they try.

               With Saurfang still in Stormwind custody, if he wasn’t dead, and the Troll shaman who’d clung to him like a shadow up in smoke the young Chieftain found himself alone in a Horde slowly going mad. Neither the Nightborne nor their Highmountain brethren had been a part of the Faction for long enough to be wary, Rokhan was tied up in repairing relations with the Zandalari and Gallywix, true to form, didn’t give a damn what was happening around him if it meant that his coffer was filling up with glinting coins. But where was Lor’themar and the Blood Elves in all of this? Even if Sylvanas had once been one of them, surely, they couldn’t blindly accept what she had done. Was still doing.

He’d come to expect, at this point, cruel actions by the Forsaken. Wicked deeds at greater frequency than ever before, when they’d been forced to hide their true intentions behind the guise of seeking a cure for undeath. Sacrificing the living as if they were simply pawns to be thrown aside. Raising the fallen, enemy and ally alike, with the Val’kyr fiends Sylvanas had cut some sort of deal with after Arthas’ fall. Torturing and experimenting on sentient, innocent creatures in order to further the manufacturing of more and more deadly plagues. So when he found himself cornered in the far removed building which had become, for him, a haven of sorts by the rabidly loyal Champion of the Dark Lady his first thought was that this was the start of some form of inquisition or perhaps an assassination ordered by Sylvanas before he could become a threat to her authority. Though it was unlikely the Dark Ranger Lord would have bothered to show himself if that were the case.

Baine turned to face him, horns lowered to just short of a threat, only to pull up short in surprise.

Nathanos stood stiffly, shoulders drawn back and his back ram rod straight. Hand clenched with such force around the bow at his side that his fingers would have been left white knuckled beneath his taloned gloves had he still been alive. Behind the pitiless glow of red eyes, in the set of his gaunt and ashen features…

It had to be how dim the room was, or a failure of the living to properly read the rictus faces of the dead, because it couldn’t really be fear that he was seeing.

“Blightcaller?” his tone failed to be quite as demanding or distrustful as he’d intended it to be. “I’d assume the Warchief wishes to speak with me.” That was the only other reason he could think of for the man to be there. Nathanos Blightcaller wasn’t fond of him. Hell, he wasn’t fond of anyone really, except maybe Sylvanas to whom he kowtowed obsessively.

The Dark Ranger Lord didn’t respond, those burning eyes darting around the room as if expecting a foe to leap out from the shadows at any moment. Still wound tight though not lacking the usual hunter’s grace gained from years spent among Elves he circled the room. Once. Twice. Three times. Going so far as to stick his head into a hole in the wall which vaguely resembled something large enough for something to crawl into.

Baine’s ears flicked back in annoyance. “Nathanos!”

His head snapped around, fixating the Tauren in a baleful stare which made his fur stand on end. Pulling himself almost reluctantly away from the hole which, apparently, hadn’t been sussed out for infiltrators to his complete satisfaction, he growled “who else knows you’re here?”

“What?” that sounded like a dangerous question to answer.

“Don’t make me repeat myself, imbecile! With ears that large I find it difficult to believe you’ve spontaneously gone deaf!” As mutinous as usual. That, at least, hadn’t changed. “Who. Else. Knows. You’re. Here. If I could track you down that means the other Dark Rangers are able to as well. You took _no_ precautions while holing yourself up in here!”

“Precautions?” Now Baine didn’t know what to think, as he watched the Blightcaller continue to make pacing circuits around the small room, except perhaps that his undeath had progressed to the point where his brain had begun to rot and that that was the source of his sudden erratic behavior.

“Yes, _precautions!_ This cann _ot_ , in no uncertain terms, _ever_ reach the Banshee Queen! For even daring to consider such things, let alone taking such steps in going through with the matter, I’d be slaughtered where I stood! ‘Champion’ or not!” He huffed. Shook his head. In that moment resembling a vicious mastiff attempting to rid itself of fleas. “She doesn’t take betrayal well. And our ‘freedom’ as Forsaken seems to end at thinking of leaving. The events of the ‘ceasefire’ in Arathi show case that, though Menethil’s involvement could be argued as an antagonizing factor.”

“ ** _You_** want to leave?” alarm bells were ringing, now. Loud and clear. Where it wasn’t impossible that the desire was genuine it was so unlikely that it may as well have been. A more realistic explanation was that this had all been staged in some strange attempt to catch him out. To label him a traitor and make the process of getting rid of a future thorn in her side far easier. Nathanos Blightcaller, Champion, Chief Enforcer and lover of the Banshee Queen, suddenly become possessed of the desire to abandon the Forsaken and his Queen? It was ridiculous. “Why come to me? If you really wish to leave the Horde than do so. A tracker like you must surely know how to throw others off his trail.”

Nathanos scoffed, his red eyes flaring. “I learned nearly everything I know from the Dark Lady. But I’m not enough of an idiot to expect that she taught me everything _she_ knows. If I were to attempt to match my skill against hers, bet my life on it, I’d be hunted down within hours. Days, at most, were I lucky and news of my…escape was delayed.” A drawn-out pause. “With help, however…”

“The Shu’halo will not risk ourselves sheltering you. And even if we were willing, you seem to have forgotten that we, too, are a part of the Horde. _Her_ Horde.”

“I’m not looking for shelter from you, Bloodhoof.” He spat, embers eyes shifting to a vicious glare. “But from the man who’d reach out to a people considered ‘wicked’ by all around him all for the sake of reuniting torn families so that others didn’t have to suffer the loss that he did? I would seek shelter from him.”

Baine’s eyes widened and his ears pinned back. “And what, in the name of the Light and the Earth Mother, would possess me to allow _you_ anywhere near Anduin?” he snarled, hooves pounding against the tiled floor. If the threat registered the Dark Ranger failed to react. “The last thing he needs is a serpent like you making claims of distress to slither into his proximity by leveraging his sympathy! And what would you care for his efforts to reunite families? You don’t have any living relatives.”

Nathanos rounded on him then with such abruptness that the Tauren nearly leapt backwards, fur back to bristling. Those blazing eyes were nearly blinding in the gloom, the hellish yellow which passed as pupils blown so wide the red which normally drowned them had all but vanished. There was madness on his face, then. An expression which the young Chieftain simply couldn’t compute. Anger? Grief? Zealous insanity? By now he was well aware Sylvanas had lost her mind but hadn’t thought her Champion quite so far down that same slope until he bared his teeth and snarled like one of his vicious hook-toothed hounds.

“And were it not for Sylvanas Windrunner that wouldn’t be the case! Stephon was my cousin by blood but in practice he was my brother! My _younger brother_ whom was at the Marris Stead so often as a child that I all but raised him! What she did to me-! I can never escape from it because _I’m wearing his face_!” As abruptly as the bitter emotion had erupted out of him the Blightcaller reigned it in. Raising a shaking hand to the bridge of his nose. His teeth were gritted when he spoke again, tone spooled taught. “I’d rather the naive Lion than the woman who would model herself Lich Queen. Even I am not that blindly loyal. I have my limits, Tauren. I’ve had enough. Will you send the letter or not? If I don’t get rid of it today, I fear I’ll lose the will that I’ve found to defy her.”

The expression on his face looked more like nausea than any real emotion but considering the range of expression Baine had noticed on the Forsaken thus far that might well have been the closest he was able to come to expressing ‘anxiety’. For another long moment the Tauren simply stared at him, then he stepped forward with a snort. “You have this letter on you, Blightcaller?” In answer, Nathanos drew a bound and folded parchment from within the folds of his dark cloak and promptly thrust it into his face. “I will not vouch for you, but I will send it. From there, your fate is in the hands of the Alliance.”

The smile he was sent was more a baring of teeth than anything meant to communicate gratitude or kind feelings. “I’m sure my worth will be more than enough to make him see things my way.” He turned to exit the way that he’d come. “No need to be terribly secretive with the method of sending either. I was careful to give little away as to my precise identity within that letter, in case of interception.”

Baine watched him go without another word.

The sun had finally begun to set behind the thick canopy of Zuldazar, throwing red rays across the streets and throughways of Dazar’alor. Painting the city of gold in shades of pink and amber. Though still heavy with humidity and thick with the scent of jungle, the air had begun to cool with night’s approach. A difference in temperature which he could only barely register, though even that was leagues beyond what most of the undead could claim to. Swiftly scaling a vine grown wall, Nathanos Blightcaller made his way along the rooftops until he’d put enough distance between himself and Baine that the risk of the Tauren stumbling upon him calmly going about his business after such a display of discomfort and thus become suspicious was minimal.

Vaulting back down onto the empty street, he found himself a perch on the edge of the pyramid which overlooked the Blood Gate and, beyond it, Nazmir. He was by no means a good actor, that was to say that such a façade didn’t come naturally to him but rather with great effort and every moment devoted to full thought of the task at hand, and maintaining the guise was mentally draining in a way he hadn’t quite bargained for.

Where it would soon become his full-time job for the foreseeable future, provided that Anduin Wrynn swallowed the bait, that didn’t mean work had to start immediately. Nathanos was intent on enjoying a last few hours solitude before the real work began.

It really had been a strange request that Sylvanas had asked of him; the set up of a future decisive blow to the Alliance. Where it had made sense to him that she’d want to send in someone she knew that she could trust with so vital a project, needing as they did to resist long term exposure to the enemy, but at the same time there were aspects of having chosen _him_ that didn’t make quite so much sense. Foremost amongst them the aforementioned ineptitude with acting.

Then again, perhaps there was hidden wisdom in it. Even among the Alliance he was known for being harsh and frank. Not one for mincing words or stabbing in the back someone he could shoot in the face instead. The fact that he might be acting would be considered more of a joke, a running gag, than a real possibility. And that, ultimately, would serve them better.

Of course, there was still the fact that something around 95% of what he’d said to the Tauren, and that much if not more of what he’d soon be doing day in and day out, felt like a betrayal to his Queen even in spite of following her orders. The woman whom he’d loved fiercely in life and had devoted himself to in death. But if such discomfort on his part was the price to pay to not fail her so be it.

It was done. In his mind, if not yet in practice, the High King’s fate was sealed. It would be months before he returned to her side, but when he did it would be bearing the Little Lion’s heart as a gift.

As darkness fell over the ancient rainforest Nathanos’ thoughts returned to his summons back to Orgrimmar earlier that day.

_The glare of the blinding sun kicking back off the hard-baked desert earth blinded him as he emerged from the portal from Dazar’alor. The dryness, more than the heat, blasting him with an infernal breath. Raising a hand to shield his brow, he paused long enough to allow his sharp vision to readjust before he urged his mount down the busy streets. Ignoring the hubbub around him. His dour expression and chilling presence dissuading anyone, citizen or guard or so called ‘hero’, from attempting to impede his progress forward._

_Grommash Hold rose ahead of him, a squat aggressive building built entirely of Dark Iron and boasting a multitude of spikes and spines in the typical tasteless style of the Orcs. Dismounting outside of it and paying no mind to the Royal Dread Guards who’d replaced the Kor’kron who’d stood guard in ages past, he proceeded inside through the building’s dark maw._

_Sylvanas lounged atop the massive throne and watched him approach with her glowing cinder eyes. Built for an Orc it didn’t quite look right, unlike the throne of Lordaeron which the Alliance curs had forced them to destroy, yet rather than leave her looking out of place in his eyes it only served to make her more imposing. More beautiful. The claws on her gloves scrapped against the stone arms of the great chair as she leaned forward, her pale hair falling forward into her fennec face._

_“My Champion,” she said, blue lips curling into a deadly smile, “you’ve returned.”_

_“I always come to my Lady’s call.” Like a hound with his master. An echo of what their bond had once been; dark ashes melding together where once a flame had burned. The cold hand of death had snuffed out that fire, and now this was all that remained._

_For what they’d become, it was enough._

_His response seemed to please her. She relaxed against the stone. “How goes our campaign in Zandalar?”_

_“The ‘Hero’,” the tone with which he said it made his thoughts on that title plain, “has been named ‘Speaker for the Horde’ and has successfully proven our capacity for aid to the Zandalari. Talanji is more willing than her father to act against the Alliance, though. That having been said…” he scowled._

_“That having been said?” Sylvanas pressed._

_“The Zandalari don’t seem to like me very much, my Lady.”_

_Sylvanas seemed amused by this comment, judging by the upward twitch of her lips. “Well, you needn’t suffer that fact for too much longer Blightcaller. I’ve a job for you. One of dire importance which will take you far away from both Zandalar and the Horde.” Sylvanas said. “You’re the only one that I can trust to pull it off.” Her red eyes cut through the gloom of the Hold, examining his face for the slightest flicker of expression. “I will have Stormwind as mine, one way or another. If I cannot muster the Horde to strike at the heart of the Alliance directly, then we’ll require a more precise means to achieve our ends.”_

_Nathanos tilted his head. “My Lady?”_

_“You, my Champion, will infiltrate Stormwind. Offer your aid to their efforts against us. Gain the confidence of the Boy King and make yourself indispensable so that when the time comes and the Alliance believes they’re about to achieve sweeping victory his sudden slaughter will send them into a chaos from which they’ll never recover.” Sylvanas said. “I expect that you will use **any** means necessary. The sooner you can burrow into his good graces, the deeper you can lodge yourself, the better. Considering certain persistent…rumors you should have an easier time than, say, Clea. And it will make his ultimate demise at your hands all the sweeter the more you have him wrapped around you.”_

_Infiltrate Stormwind? Go undercover? Did she intend to have him pose as someone else? If so, who would be posing as him in the meanwhile to prevent the SI:7 spies he knew were soon to be prowling about, if they weren’t already, from realizing something was amiss. “What guise will I be assuming?”_

_“Guise?” the Dark Lady chuckled. “No ‘guise’. Having you pose as someone else would defeat the purpose: with all the information that the Blightcaller can offer them, all the skill that could be turned against us in their favor, there’s no way the threat of your presence will out weigh what they see in benefit.”_

_For a moment he could only stare at her, uncomprehending. “I’m afraid that I don’t understand.”_

_“Then I’ll lay it out in simple terms.” She said. “In order to bring about a final end to the Alliance, Nathanos, I need you to betray me.”_

_Silence. Nathanos stared at her again, unable to explain the source of the sudden crawling discomfort which overcame him at the prospect. As if his belly had become infested with flesh eating worms. Betray her, even falsely? Consign himself to serving the interests of the self-righteous brat of a High King? Suffer long term proximity to Greymane? The thought alone was nauseating. But if this was what Sylvanas would ask of him “as you wish, my Lady. I’ll make use of the Tauren’s friendship with Wrynn to get into contact with him claiming a wish of shelter on account that I’ve of late become unable to reconcile serving you as your actions become more and more like…his.”_

_“A wise choice, Nathanos. Echo the predisposed opinion of the living. Play on their biases and invite them close.” She paused to observe him. “Obfuscating his never been a strong point of yours. Regardless, I expect you won’t fail me.”_

_“Have I ever failed you?”_

_Another cruel smirk graced her features, though above it her eyes were pitiless. “No. And I’d advise you not to start. Where it’s true that I’ve always made exceptions for you, Nathan, testing me would prove unwise.”_

_There was danger, more than reassurance, in her use of his shortened name. It had been a sign of affection between them once, in life. “I understand.”_

_“Good.” She said shortly. “Go.”_

_Accepting the dismissal for what it was the Lord of the Dark Rangers quickly vacated the premises. When he returned to Dazar’alor he’d need to hunt down Bloodhoof, wherever it was that the Tauren had gotten off to, but first he’d need to write up a workable letter to plead with him to send._

The letter was in Baine’s hands now, soon to be in those of his prey, and now all he could do was wait for the lion to step in the snare that had been left for him.

 

The day had started little different than any of the others before it, at least since the rekindling of the Faction War. Wake up. Dress. Be brought a light breakfast. Wrestle with the guilt over his failure to prevent the burning of Teldrassil. Be confronted by any one of his numerous advisors. Dwell on his failure to fill his father’s shoes. Pray for peace of mind. Run the gauntlet of the House of Nobles. Contend with the lives lost in the push on the Under City, amounting to little more than walking into a carefully laid trap. Rinse and repeat. But all of that had come to an abrupt end when the eagle, bearing a parcel in its claws, had swooped in through one of the high windows left open to let in the breeze. Dropping its burden into his lap.

The last time he’d seen the bird was when Baine had reached out to him in hopes they could remain friends despite all that had of late occurred. Heart leaping, hoping-perhaps against reason-that contained within the parcel were the first steps of the Tauren people seeking to distance themselves from the Horde as it had become the young King was quick to rip it open. Discovering two items inside: a short note in his friend’s handwriting which simply read ‘be careful should you choose to trust him’ and a mysterious letter.

Written on fine oil parchment and folded neatly thrice, it was bound in twine and addressed simply ‘High King Wrynn’ in bold quill strokes. Brow knitting together in confusion and critically checking the letter over for signs that it might contain something dangerous to him-though that was unlikely as it had been sent through Baine-Anduin snipped the twine and unfolded the parchment.

 A short, urgent missive written in the same hand that had addressed it. The lettering smudged slightly in just such a way that left lingering impressions of smudged fingers as its penner tried to hide the contents from sight imprinted on his mind’s eye. Someone desperate and afraid that, at any moment, they’d be discovered and severely punished if not killed. And in their writing, it came through as such.

_I write this hoping it will reach your eyes and counting on your mercy as I’ve known Sylvanas Windrunner for long enough to know that she has none left. Nor do any of us, in truth, but such inanities are beyond the point._

_I am within the Dark Lady’s inner circle and fear for my life. Though I was not present in Arathi to meet living family I was among the force dispatched on our side to keep things civil, as had been promised. As much as I consider your bleeding heart the trademark of a fool, I find myself relying on it now._

_I’ll lay things out simply, to ensure they’re understood: I much prefer service to an idiot than the next incarnation of Arthas._

_We need to meet and discuss in detail how it can be that I join the Alliance. Where and when is at your discretion, though I plead with my King not to delay. Each day I linger here the threat of discovery multiplies tenfold and my will to tear myself away wanes. Should I die a second death the information that I hold which may be of use to you dies with me._

_The Tauren can receive your reply._

The sigil at the bottom vaguely looked as if it might have been initials but they were done in such haste and so badly smudged that all Anduin could make out was what might have been an H. Or an N. Squinting and turning the communication upside down and side ways didn’t make it any clearer. It could just as easily be the result of tipping over an ink well by mistake.

The matter of discerning which letter was which ultimately was of secondary importance to alerting the necessary personnel to determine whether the message could be believed and acted on. And that was how, well after the time of night he’d normally have been shut up in his office doing paper work, the young King found himself once more on the Lion Seat with Mathias Shaw, Genn Greymane and Halford Wyrmbane at his side.

Mathias frowned down at the missive in his hands, passing it to the leader of the 7th Legion over the low sound of Genn’s growling. “I’m afraid that there’s only one way to verify if the included plea is genuine, your Majesty.” He said grimly.

“Answer it with a time and place. And then attend to see if they show themselves.” Anduin said. “I figured.”

“Having said that, King Wrynn, it doesn’t have to be you that attends.” Halford said. “It wouldn’t be unreasonable for you to send a representative in your place. Someone whose life isn’t as valuable.”

“All lives are valuable, Wyrmbane.”

“But that doesn’t mean you have to risk yours so readily, Anduin!” Genn snarled, his eyes flashing gold. “Why are we even considering this when it’s all but certainly a trap! Even if it wasn’t what reason do we have to be in any way inclined to help one of them! Especially a Dark Ranger!”

“We don’t know the Forsaken who wrote to me is a Dark Ranger.”

“Her ‘inner circle’ consists of nothing else!”

“We can’t dismiss this outright, King Greymane.” Mathias said. “Threats of assassination attempts and infiltration aside, the information they can grant us not only of the Banshee Queen’s plans, potentially on so far reaching a basis that it’s almost inconceivable to us at this moment, to Horde holdings we should be focusing strikes against to the best routes through Zandalar to use to go unnoticed by the Zandalari.”

“They could also counter their former comrades, should the need arise.” Halford said. “They’ve been picking off my men throughout the forests of Zuldazar and, thus far, we haven’t been able to throw them off our trail.”

“I understand your concern, Genn, and your fears are not unreasonable. But, ultimately, I must consider both the weight of the benefits against the cons of such a choice and the blood that would be on my hands should I ignore their plea and it turn out to be true.” Anduin said. “They did not choose to be as they are, it was done to them. And, as I said earlier, all lives are valuable. Even lives that have been lost already and improperly returned.”

“So you’re going to meet with them? Bring them in as if they deserve a second chance?” Genn snapped. “They’re not worthy of your mercy!”

“Perhaps not. But they are worthy of an opportunity to change.” Only rarely did Anduin use such a tone; one of command which brokered no argument. When he did it was immediately clear that he wouldn’t be swayed. Though still opposed the Worgen reluctantly backed down. “That said, I won’t be playing this is a fool. I won’t be going alone. Mathias.”

“My King?”

“You and Valeera will accompany me to Shattrath at eventide a fortnight from now.” He said. “With the end of the campaigns in Outland on the part of both the Alliance and the Horde the remnants of Draenor are largely abandoned by the denizens of Azeroth. To get to Shattrath one must be possessed of the intention to be there, which leaves it out of the way enough that the likelihood of word getting back to the Dark Lady quickly is vey low. The least I can do is hear them.”

“So, it’s not definitive you’ll bring one of those fiends to your side, just likely.”

“Genn,” Anduin sighed heavily, “you’re acting as if I’m considering bringing them somewhere much less appropriate.”

“Don’t even _joke_ about such things!” The Worgen snapped, earning a glare from Halford and a tint of disapproval from Mathias who otherwise kept the businesslike mask he always wore in place. “By the Light, Anduin! You could have any woman you wanted in the Alliance! In Kul Tiras as well! There’s no need to even consider a reanimated corpse!”

“I didn’t mean to be taken seriously.” Not to mention that there was only one among the Dark Rangers he knew of that he stood any chance of being genuinely attracted to. Though Anduin felt certain the man would sooner chew off his own limbs than regard him as anything other than a target to be filled with arrows. “Though you’re right that I should mind my words more in the future. In my position, I can’t afford for such things to be misconstrued.”

The stringent lines of the Gilnean’s face softened somewhat. “At least you’re one of the few who can admit they’re wrong without first needing the wisdom of age, my King.” Genn said. “With your leave, I ask to return to tending to matters in Boralus. I’d prefer to remain as far away from any one of those _things_ as possible.”

All things considered, the Worgen’s reaction could have been much worse. Anduin nodded. “Of course, Genn. Thank you for coming on such short notice. And though it may not seem like it now, I do appreciate your wisdom.”

The grumble he received in reply didn’t sound terribly convinced.

With the other King gone, Anduin turned to the remaining men. “You’ll be needing to return to Boralus as well, I take it?”

“We do.” Halford said. “With the plan for sieging the Zandalari capital still in its early stages both Mathias and I are needed on the _Wind’s Redemption_ to coordinate Champions and various personnel.”

“I’ll return in time to accompany you, King Wrynn.”

“Of course. Thank you both. You may go.” Rising from the Lion Seat the Priest watched the Rogue and Paladin exit the room before doing the same himself. Heading through an inner doorway and up to his private chambers. Freeing himself of his armor down to his leathers Anduin hung Shalamayne on its rack and headed into the attached study.

Pausing at the spirits cabinet he poured himself a stiff glass of Stormwind Scotch. Savoring the burn of the alcohol’s smooth slide down his throat. Glancing out the dark window as he pulled the high back chair away from the desk and lowered himself into it.

Fishing a clean piece of parchment from the upper drawer, Anduin dipped his father’s eagle feather quill into the inkwell’s narrow neck and began to write.

He’d all but drained his glass and was putting the finishing lines onto his response when he felt another presence in the room. Looking up, he was met with the sight of Valeera perched atop the arm of his chair, reading over his shoulder.

“Someone in the Horde wants to meet with you about leaving? You’re going to Shattrath to speak with them?”

“Not just ‘someone from the Horde’, Valeera. One of the Banshee Queen’s inner circle, or at least so they claim.”

Her green eyes narrowed. “A Forsaken?”

“A Dark Ranger, presumably.”

Valeera’s ears swiveled back. “Are your sure that’s wise, little brother?”

“No need to be jealous, Valeera. You know that you’re the only Elf for me.”

“I also know we play for the same team and that you’d only ever lay with a woman out of obligation to create an heir, so cut it out Wrynn.” His laughter rang, light and gilded, through the room. Valeera couldn’t help but think that it wasn’t a sound that she heard nearly enough. “You’re really going alone?”

“Of course not. I’ll be accompanied by you and the Spymaster, just in case this is a trap, but they don’t need to know that.”

“You plan to bring them in?”

“I plan to hear them out.” He said. “To judge their character, and whether or not they’re genuine. You know I’ve always been good at that.”

“Ever since you were fifteen.” Freeing his hair, ignoring his small grumble of only slightly genuine annoyance and threading her fingers through it. Deliberately dragging her nails along his scalp and snickering at his over exaggerated purr. “You know, I never understood how it is you do it. How you manage to just _look_ at someone and _know_. It would sure be a useful ability to have.”

Anduin smirked. “I’m sure it would be.” He said. “Unfortunately for you, a man of the cloth must keep his secrets.”

“No!” Valeera threw her arms around his shoulders, tumbling atop him without applying any of her weight in order to avoid agitating old wounds. Laughing all the while. “Teach me your ways, oh wise and patient King!”

The blonde snorted, wholly unbothered by the fact that his pseudo sister had made herself at home in his lap. “I hate to disappoint you, Valeera, but it’s not something I _can_ teach you.” He said, grinning in the face of her pout. “And though I can’t go into details as to have because, frankly, your guess is as good as mine, but I gained the ability when Garrosh Hellscream dropped the Divine Bell on my head.”

The Blood Elf’s ears perked up. “So, when you trust people or take something at face value seemingly beyond apparent reason it’s because you _literally_ know something no one else does.”

“It’s more of a feeling.” Anduin admitted. “But it’s usually right.”

“So you’ll let them join the Alliance if you ‘feel’ that they’re being honest.”

“Or if I feel like I can maneuver them into an advantageous position.”

“Wouldn’t that be something to see. The Banshee Queen sending in a Dark Ranger to destroy the Alliance from within only to have them spit back out as a lion themselves.” For a moment Anduin thought she’d let the subject drop, but then Valeera propped her head against his chest and said “this still isn’t a good idea.”

“No reward without risk, Valeera.” Anduin said, lightly tracing the shape of her ear with the tip of a gloved finger. “And I can’t abandon someone who may truly be in need. It would make me no better than her.”

The Blood Elf in his lap huffed but didn’t move, apparently quite comfortable where she was. The young King just reached around her to pick up the feather quill and properly address the letter. Folding it and then melting blue wax onto the parchment to seal with the ring of House Wrynn.

“Can you take this to the Aerie, ‘leera?” he asked her. “Ryder will know how to find Baine.”

“Baine is acting as a go between?”

“Yes.”

“And did the Tauren have anything to say about them?” she asked, tone overly pleasant. Anduin sighed. “Because he didn’t seem to have anything to say about Teldrassil. Or Lordaeron. Or Arathi.”

“Nothing any different than what everyone else has said.” He told her. “I’m sure he knows who they are but respected the need to not identify them in case of interception.”

“If he’s telling you to be careful as well then maybe I misjudged him.”

“Valeera, please. A leader doesn’t define all those who follow them. Not all of the Horde is beyond redemption.” He said. “You worked with Belmonte during the Legion’s invasion.”

“I wouldn’t call him a blinding paragon of virtue or any model to build the idea we shouldn’t’ be making snap judgements on the nature of the undead on.”

“’Leera.”

“Alright, fine.” Valeera made a show of reluctance in getting off him but took the letter from his hands and rose regardless. “But only because you’re my favorite little brother.”

“I’m your _only_ little brother.”

“Really?” she smirked as she looked at him, green eyes glinting in the candle light. “That might have a lot to do with it, now that I really think.” Snickering, Valeera hauled herself up over the windowsill and dropped down onto the roof below. Leaving his joking protest behind.

Stormwind City after dark was a quiet, peaceful place even in the midst of a brutal war. A thin veil of fog had rolled in off the water and hung over the streets, hazing the outlines of the patrolling guards. Beneath the light of the full moon the differently colored roofs of the seperate districts were gilded silver. Outwardly, beyond the restructured park and the marble form of Lion’s Rest, the city looked little different than it had under Varian’s reign.

With a pang of sorrow at the thought of her fallen friend, the Rogue made the short trip across the roof tops to the Aerie and located the nest of the proper falcon. Attaching the letter to its leg and coaxing it out into the night.

As she watched it fly away, Valeera found herself unable to shake a mounting sense of dread.

 


	2. In the City of Lights

The hull of the risen ship creaked and groaned around him. Water occasionally dripping down between the swollen boards making up the upper decks. It had been a day and some hours since he’d sent the letter with the false plea for salvation to the fool currently occupying the Alliance’s High Throne. He hadn’t expected to receive a response quite so quickly, even considering the call for swift action which he’d included so when the overly adorned Troll-straight backed in a way which only the Zandalari ever seemed to be and with a look of bald disgust set on his tusked face-descended the stairs to his shadowed sojourn his only thought was _that was fast._

More than likely, the sheer speed of it meant a rejection; the letter must have made it through to Stormwind only to be screened-likely by the drooling cur-and tossed it in the fire. A strongly worded response about how he himself should leap into a pyre sent back.

He’d have to come up with some way to ensure he reached the King directly.

“De’ Tauren be wantin ya.” The Troll said before promptly turning and walking away.

Lifting his bow from where he’d left it leaned against the wall, Nathanos slung the weapon across his back and followed the Troll back out onto the upper decks before dismounting the ship. Parting ways on the long gilded dock and ascending through the ancient city to the out of the way hole Bloodhoof had taken to inhabiting. As expected, he found the Tauren there, accompanied by a dappled falcon which perched on a high shelf. Nathanos glared at it, lip curling into a ferocious sneer, until Baine cleared his throat and he was forced to look away.

“I take it Greymane fetched the letter before Wrynn could see it and sent back a suggestion that I swallow my bow?” He growled.

“This was sent by Anduin directly, Blightcaller. I recognize the way he addressed it.” Baine rumbled. “If it’s a rejection, as would be wise, you’re on your own for your ‘escape’ unless you have some means of contacting the Ebon Blade.”

Nathanos’ growl as he snatched the letter was more than answer enough. “You didn’t read it?” he looked the letter over critically, no doubt appearing in some ways paranoid to the other man. The envelope, for all intents and purposes, didn’t seem to have been opened.

Baine’s tail flicked in agitation. “I don’t poke through other’s mail.” He said. “As far as I’m concerned the contents of that letter are between the two of you. And I’d suggest burning it once you’re through, Blightcaller.”

“As if I’d ever be so stupid not to!” He opened the envelope and pulled out the letter. Thick high quality paper sealed with blue wax and bearing the royal mark of the Wrynn Line. Outwardly, it resembled the only other letter which the young King had sent to them.

So, he had managed to reach Anduin. Good. That raised the chances of success of this crucial first step considerably. Slipping his finger between the folds of the parchment Nathanos broke the seal and unfolded it. Red eyes scanning over what had been written.

_Shattrath City at eventide, a fortnight from the eve you sent this letter. Come alone, as I will. This is to be a peaceful meeting._

_You will explain yourself in person and I will decide if your plea for clemency is to be heard._

_Anduin Llane Wrynn_

_King of Stormwind_

_High King of the Alliance_

Folding the letter once more, Nathanos stepped up to the nearest candle and held the corner over the flame until it caught to light. The parchment blackening and curling before falling away to ash. With a last blazing glare over his shoulder at the falcon he exited the building.

Nathanos barely had the chance to step out into the sunlight before physically running into, and almost knocking over, Lyana.

The Dark Ranger stumbled a few steps back before she regained her footing and straightened up. Her ears pinned back in surprise. “You certainly seem in a hurry, Blightcaller.” The tone of her voice was resentful and her red eyes were sharp. “Something you want to share?”

“Nothing that’s any of your concern.” She moved to block his path when he tried to step around her. Growling, he narrowed his eyes. “ _Move_ , Lyana!”

“I heard Bloodhoof was asking after you personally.” She simpered, suspicion in her posture. “What did he want?”

“I already told you. It’s not your concern.”

Lyana entirely ignored the blatant warning in his tone and pushed forward, still refusing to let him leave the doorway. “The Tauren is an agitator and has spoken out against our Lady’s word on a number of occasions now. And, more importantly, he’s openly a friend of that bastard Wrynn!”

“ _I said leave it!_ ”

“I can’t ‘leave it’, Blightcaller, when it’s so strangely suspicious that you’d even be speaking to him. Let alone in private and at his request.” She said. “And it’s awfully strange you’d be so defensive if it’s really true you’re doing nothing wrong.”

A moment later he’d leveled the blade at his hip in her direction, Lyana all but going cross eyed to keep it in her sight. A glimmer of fear for the first time showing on her face. He knew what was said about him-rabid, unhinged, cultishly devoted-and all of those labels seemed to be reminding her of their presence in that moment.

“Leave it.” He snarled, the demand crackling low in his chest. “Or I will make you leave it. How dare you even suggest that I’d consider betraying the Banshee Queen in favor of that gilded idiot!”

“I’m suggesting nothing of the sort.” She said. “Though it’s interesting that you would.”

“You are lucky that we cannot afford the loss of another Dark Ranger.” If things continued like this his utter acting incompetence truly would serve him well. Of course, this was a bit too soon for the seeds of suspicion to be sprouting for his comfort. Being tied down by his comrades before he could make it to Shattrath and his prey was not ideal. “Though if you’re really so desperate for your second death I’d suggest throwing yourself to Wyrmbane’s lions. It’ll be considerably less painful for you.” Nathanos allowed the tip of the blade to dip just low enough to make a point. “Now, either inform me of what you want or remove yourself immediately from my presence. I’ve things to do.”

“Yes, things. Including assisting Talanji’s Expedition with a renewed incursion by the Nazmani zealots. The Zandalari have requested the assistance of our arrows at the Blood Gate.”

“You should have said that from the beginning rather than assuming you had the right or station to question me.” Returning the sword to his belt with the snap of the scabbard, he turned abruptly on his heel and began walking at a brusque pace towards the aviary where their riding bats had made themselves at home amid the screaming pterrodax used by the ancient race of Trolls.

He wasn’t looking forward to aviaries filled with half-bird hybrid freaks.

Bloodwing pulled one of his wings down enough to stare at him with one beady eye, the bat’s gaze becoming slightly resentful once it became clear that he would be disturbed in the middle of the day. Nathanos ordered him to his side a moment later; Lyana’s bat and the beast belonging to Vorel, who’d been waiting at the aviary for them, were already at the ready.

Slowly, less responsive and far less cooperative than his small army of hounds-most of which were gone, now, having been killed in the Siege of Lordaeron by the Alliance  and the subsequent destruction of the Undercity on Sylvanas’ orders-the bat stretched its expansive wings-the webbing a deep crimson tone rather than the charcoaled grey of the other two-and pulled them gently through its needle teeth before finally leaving its perch and fluttering to the stone beside them.

The damned thing had one job and didn’t seem to grasp why it was he kept it around. One of these days he’d get fed up with its behavior and replace it with something more cooperative.

Leaving the aviary behind with the coarse flap of leathered wings, the Dark Rangers and their bats soared out over the close grown canopy. Banking north towards the Blood Gate and Nazmir.

This wouldn’t be the first time that he’d had to deal with the crazed devotees of Gh’uun and he wasn’t dumb enough to waste the necessary energy on the futile hope that it would be the last. Even after the Titan Facility which had served as a nest had been cleared they hadn’t gone away, simply scattering to the winds like agitated spiders and infesting whatever holes and hollows they happened to come across thereafter.

If they ever got rid of them it wouldn’t be for a long time and Nathanos wasn’t certain whether or not he should consider himself lucky that, at least for the foreseeable future, this would be the last time he’d have to deal with them personally.

The verdant jungle dropped suddenly away into the fetid swamplands of Nazmir. Sallow, sickly trees sprouted from the drowned soil with enough distance apart that it afforded them unimpeded views of the moss-grown skeletons of Devilsaurs and Direhorns and the occasional glimpse of their reflections darting by through holes in the pond scum where water was visible. Banking left and soaring over the ancient, broken road which cut through the mire the trio descended into the small outpost the Expedition had managed to carve out for themselves. Not pleasant conditions under which the living were forced to endure, in any capacity. Not ideal for the undead either, really.

Moisture and tropical heat didn’t pair well with the general condition of the Forsaken. The Dark Ranger Lord took a moment to be thankful for his repaired state. Had he found himself here in his former one, if flesh was still left by this point, it would surely have begun schleffing off by now.

Which was likely why the Princess had sent them to do the job, rather than the ‘Hero’ or someone among the Zandalari’s own forces.

The Troll in charge of the outpost didn’t seem particularly pleased to have to deal with them. The feeling being mutual didn’t in any way endear him to the concept of making matters easier for him. Throughout the man’s explanation of their orders-as if they were in some way bound to take orders from _him_ -Nathanos went out of his way to glare him into as much discomfort as he was able.

He considered it a victory that more than once the Troll stuttered and tripped on his words beneath his scorching gaze.

It was hard to say, by the time they were dismissed, who was more relieved by the fact that they were leaving.

On foot, now, they cut their way through the swamp towards their target-a ransacked ship over run with raving drudges, from which they were expected to salvage supplies-more than once being forced to wade through snake infested muck up to their waists.

Evening had begun to spread tongues of blue light through the anemic brush which populated the area by the time they came into sight of the overtaken vessel .

Run aground on a slopping mud flat when the tide had ebbed, the hull of the gilded cargo ship had been eviscerated. Shards of wood and the bodies of the crew were strewn among the knobby knees of the twisted mangroves.  Thrown about without much trace of a care were multiple boxes of supplies, one lying practically at Nathanos’ feet within the tree line.

“First move, Blightcaller?” Vorel’s eyes followed the path of an emaciated drudge.

“Flank the ship. Give them no recourse for flight but the water.” He said. “Make it easy for us to pick them off.”

He’d spent most of his life fighting Trolls, and good portion of years fighting Orcs as well. Nathanos had never really gotten used to fighting beside them instead. That would be one aspect of jumping ship to the Alliance, at least in pretense, he was pleased with though then again in doing so he’d have to deal with Greymane and his drooling dog men.

As much as it irked him to be ordered around by some Zandalari who meant nothing to him, never had and never would, at times like these where he found a better outlet for long pent up frustrations than target dummies which couldn't bleed, he didn’t particularly mind the menial tasks they saw fit to too often assign him.

Lyana and Vorel both fanned out, slipping into the shadows to either side of him.  One each headed towards the prow and stern of the stranded vessel. Crouched low in the scant brush like a hunting hound, Nathanos drew an arrow from the quiver on his back and knocked it. Drawing back the thick string with the talon on his gauntlet. Casually taking aim before he fired.

The arrow cut the humid air like a blade before embedding itself in the flesh and bone of the Troll he’d been eyeing with the satisfying snick which had long become familiar. The drudge fell with a crash from the top of the deck, landing splayed in the shallow water, and the rest turned in the direction of the sound in alarm.

They didn’t get the opportunity to react beyond that.

Lyana and Vorel opened fire as well. A hail of arrows crashing down onto the distressed vessel’s deck. Sparks of dark magic scattering in all directions and sending their quarry into a panic. Seeking escape, the Nazmani leapt off the railing of the ship and into the water.

Drawing another arrow Nathanos rose from his position in the brush and stepped forward. Joining the other Dark Rangers in their advance. Pausing only once the tip of their boots were being lapped at by the cold river. Not particularly wide but deep enough to form a barrier of considerable difficulty to cross. The Blood Trolls were attempting to swim away.

They didn’t allow them to reach the other side.

Downstream from their position the current would run red for the next few hours.

 

 

It had taken a great deal of effort on the part of the Spymaster, but the young King’s impending visit to Outland, and the exact reason why, had been successfully kept under wraps. After yet another long day of wrestling with Stormwind’s House of Nobles and hearing out the concerns of his people, a fortnight after he’d first received the mysterious letter, Anduin-accompanied by Valeera and Mathias-took a portal to the Exodar to make use of the old portal located there to take him directly to the former capital of the Draeni.

He’d never been to Shattrath before, had only heard stories of its once grandeur, but he couldn’t help but think that even in a state of ruin the City of Light was a beautiful place. Though he wasn’t there to see the Na’aru, and doubted he’d have time to make a detour to do so, he felt their Light envelope him and he heard a gentle chime of welcome in the back of his mind.

He was filled with an inexplicable feeling of safety and though he knew it was somewhat unwise not to be wary given why he was there he couldn’t help but feel relaxed. Safe.

There were still a few minutes left before sundown when Anduin stepped out into the Lower City. Though it was doubtful a Human would have drawn any recognition from the wandering bird like Arakkoa, the glowing blue drake sunning itself atop a ruined building or the shady looking Ethereal who appeared to be some sort of deal of unrecognizable black-market goods, even if he had come in his gleaming golden plate, it would have drawn their notice. And as such he’d taken pains to appear as inconspicuous as he could, donning the same dark peasant’s clothes and cloak he had while making his journey to Wrynn Fall. Pulling the coarse hood up over his burnished hair.

As he walked through the Lower City, observing the daily goings on around him, Anduin hoped to be the first to noticed his expected company rather than the other way around. Blue eyes seeking the tell tale silhouetted of an Elf or the desiccated limbs and hunched posture he’d come to expect from the Forsaken. An old Orc watched him curiously from her place in a crumbling doorway. A pair of Draeni children bolted passed underfoot. The sun had almost completely disappeared, the sky tinting green with coming night as the twin moons of Draenor rose above the broken world.

They hadn’t come. Whether that was because they’d decided better of meeting with him, or ‘lost the will to defy Sylvanas’ as they’d claimed concern over, or had been discovered and stopped before they could make it there Anduin had no way of knowing.

The young King couldn’t afford to wait all night to see if they yet made it there. He needed to return to Stormwind.

As he moved to take a step backwards, he was seized from behind. A hand clamping over his mouth to stopper the yelp of fear and surprise which jolted up his spine like lightning. The talons capping the fingers making their presence known but not pressing in enough to cause pain. Powerful arms reeled him in until his back met with a cold, hard chest. All cut muscle and no softness beneath a covering of chain link. Whoever was currently dragging him backwards was undeniably male.

Where was Valeera? Where was Mathias? Surely, they’d intervene in this now that hands had been laid on him, yet neither appeared. Not when he was pulled into a narrow alley, not when he was tugged around a corner and most certainly out of sight, not even when he was dragged into an abandoned building where he was finally released.

Anduin didn’t waste a moment in spinning around, blue eyes flashing, poised to call on the Light if need be and only just holding off. The hooded figure, face hidden by the darkness of a deep cowl but for a glowing set of eyes, seemed to recognize the threat inherent in his posture and didn’t take it well. Drawing himself up to his full height.

Sweet Shadow, though in no way the bulwark his father had been whoever this was considerably dwarfed him.

“Imbecile!” His voice was a deep rasp, made all the more so by the fact that he was growling. “Did you expect to have this conversation out in the open of the Lower City?”

“What of the Lower City?” Surely one of the Forsaken who, until recently, had lived under a ruined city couldn’t complain about the state of their meeting point. Not to mention the fact that he was a whole leap and bound ruder than anticipated. “Both Factions abandoned what remains of Draenor long ago, Shattrath included. And with only a handful of portals leading here still active it’s far enough removed-.”

“No, it isn’t! Those who make their business dealing in information and are inclined to do so will find a way to cross her path. A world apart or not. A mere lack of portals isn’t near enough to thwart them!” He snapped. “I turned to you for help, Wrynn. Out of desperation! And here already you could have gotten me killed!”

“I have no intent to get you killed. In fact, I intend to protect you, provided I deem your plea to be an honest one.” He was supposed to be examining the man’s intent but the shock of their meeting had thrown him off. He needed to calm down. Gather himself and concentrate. “Where are my guards?”

The dark figure titled its head like a curious dog, though with an air of insincerity. “My King claimed he came here alone.”

Once again Anduin’s thoughts skittered into disarray, a hoard of spiders escaping in all directions. By the Light, why was it exactly that the way this stranger said ‘my King’-dry and sharp, tinted with an only barely detectable hint of mocking malice-went straight to a place he’d rather it hadn’t. Why, for that matter, did this man who claimed to be seeking aid seem so intent on getting a rise out of him? Almost as if the act of doing so had so long been a part of him he no longer realized he was even doing it.

“You already know better.” He said. “You got to them first. Before you dragged me here. It’s the only explanation for why they didn’t stop you.”

It took Anduin a moment to realize that the low sound the other made in that moment was laughter. “I do, my King.” There it was again. That bitter edge. Toeing the line and doing so with rather more force than most would dare in his position, but stopping just short of stepping over. “Mathias Shaw and your Elf are both enjoying a long nap, at current. Having to look after you, I’m certain they needed it.”

Anduin’s brows drew together in concern. “By that you mean...?”

“A Dark Ranger is still a Hunter, of a sort, at their core. Though more specialized.  Tranquilizing shots are a basic skill.” The man said. “Unless one of them hit their head on the way down they’ll recover.”

How snidely he said that made Anduin wonder whether or not he hoped they had. “Very well, then.” He said. “If we’re to move to the point of why we’re here so that I can return to my myriad of duties back in Stormwind, I’m going to need to be made aware right now of precisely whom I’m speaking with.”

Between what he wore and the darkness of the room around them Anduin could make nothing out of his features, though he seemed not quite tall enough and too powerfully built to be an Elf. He knew, hell everyone knew, that there was only one Human among the Dark Rangers capable of being considered a member of the Banshee Queen’s inner circle, but the young King did his best to convince himself that ears were hidden beneath that hood.

There was no way it could really be…

Without a word the man reached up with one of those taloned gauntlets and pulled back his hood. Revealing the lined and bearded face which had at once been the only answer and the last thing Anduin had expected to see.

There seemed to be a measure of vicious amusement in the Blightcaller’s red eyes. “You seem surprised.”

Surprised? “I think it’s fairly stated that that is a bit of an understatement.” He needed to recover his focus and concentrate! These weren’t dangerous waters he’d found himself in up to his neck, but rather molten lava. “If you’re known for one thing beyond your skill, Nathanos, its your loyalty to the Dark Lady. As a matter of fact, there are rumors regarding its precise nature.”

“What ‘nature’ do you speak of?” The way he said it made it clear he knew. “I am her Champion because I’ve proven my worth, time and again. After death and before.”

“It’s untrue, then, that you were…involved?”

Those pitiless eyes ran him through. A plain warning he was treading on dangerous ground. “In life.”

“And now?”

The Dark Ranger Lord didn’t lash out, though he seemed on the bring of doing so. There was something more here, an ill feeling of sorts long left to fester between them at least on the side of the man in front of him. Though where it was aimed, precisely, Anduin could only guess. “It doesn’t matter.” He said. “It’s been a long time since I’ve recognized her. Not since she returned from the North. Since we lost what little purpose we still had in vengeance against Arthas.”

“Yet you stayed.”

“ _Of course I stayed_! I owed her that much after all that happened. Would be nothing, after what _he_ did, if she hadn’t gone out of her way to hunt me down and free me.” There was defensiveness written in every facet of his stance. Anduin was beginning to feel threatened as the tension in the little room coiled ever tighter and struggled yet again to sharpen his focus. To read the man in front of him.

It was Wrathion’s sharp tongue that had drawn him to the little bastard in his youth. Damn the inherent distraction of the ‘unknown defector’ from the Forsaken turning out to be the definition of snark physically personified; reaching levels even the Black Prince could only aspire for.

Desperate for clarity he reached for the Light.

Oblivious to his struggles, or perhaps uncaring, Nathanos continued speaking. “Even the most loyal hound will bite the hand of its master should it be pushed too far.”

“And you have been?” the question of ‘by what’ went unsaid.

“The collateral damage has become untenable.”

“There was ‘collateral damage’ at the Wrath Gate.”  A rise out of him seemed to be what the other man wanted. If so, he’d succeeded. Anduin had to tamp down his rising agitation.

Why had he been cursed by finding such inconvenient, stressful things attractive in partners? This was the last thing he needed to be wrestling with at the moment; the last lens he needed to be allowing to distort his perceptions.

Genn would die.

“Allow me to amend my statement then. Teldrassil was collateral damage without gain, but rather at our detriment as it brought you to our door. And the Undercity was the final straw.” There was a level of sadness to him now, muted and so thin it was almost unnoticeable. “Time and again we’ve lost everything.  That city was all that any of us truly had. Our only shelter from a world that hates us. Believes our right to exist is somehow less because of what we are. And at her order I destroyed it.”

Empathy wanted to well up inside him but the priest held it back. He didn’t have the confirmation that he needed, either way, to know whether or not he needed to be cautious. “That’s what convinced you Sylvanas is not herself?”

“Free will, once, was a point of pride for our people. The one true difference between us and them. Back then, had I wished to walk away, I’d simply have done so. Now, I’m well aware I’d be in short order hunted down as a traitor. Because of that, though it utterly disgusts me to have to do so,” graceful, despite his size, Nathanos sank down onto his knees. The thorn of hatred in those red eyes didn’t quite manage to remain concealed. “I ask for your mercy. For shelter within the Alliance. I’ll serve Stormwind to the best of my ability for the time that your protection is required. When it ceases to be necessary, I’ll strike out on my own.”

There it was. At last Anduin had managed to gather his thoughts back into enough of an order to focus on what he should have been looking at all along; that small, foreign part of himself; that sliver of power which had embedded itself beside his heart when the bell had broken over his head, crushing his body beneath it. Cold spread through him, accompanied by the bitter twist of familiar discomfort.

Nathanos Blightcaller was not a good actor, his performance stilted and at times sabotaged by his own reactions. And for that reason, Anduin would never have stopped to consider that his plea wasn’t sincere, the oddity of it all aside.

 _Clever, Sylvanas._ But she’d over played her hand, truly, in sending her best. ‘Rabidly loyal’, they called him. ‘Devoted to his queen’. But there was something there between them. Wounds rent deep and left untreated. Holds that he could dig his fingers into and twist. Draw blood. Dig into until the man before him broke and then repair the damage. _But not clever enough._

Sometimes a healer had to hurt a patient more before they could properly help them.

“If you truly believe that you’re in danger, Nathanos, I cannot in good conscious turn you away. You’ve asked for clemency for actions committed under the orders of the Banshee Queen and for shelter in my city. With my power as the High King I grant these to you in return for serving Stormwind’s banner for the duration of this war.” Anduin didn’t miss the hunter’s gleam which flashed in his eyes at the perceived victory. “Though I will have to ask that, until I can formerly announce your aid to the other leaders, you remain out of the sight of Stormwind’s catacombs so as not to set off some sort of panic.”

“As you wish.” The Dark Ranger rose again and with that was back to his full height. Imposing. The King struggled to keep his focus away from how large his shoulders were. How much, looking back, he’d enjoyed the strength of those arms around him even underneath the terror of the moment.

“Now,” he said, if nothing else than for the sake of distracting himself from the compromised direction his mind was attempting to take, “I’d appreciate it if you could show me where you left my entourage.”


	3. Welcome to Stormwind

To Nathanos’ credit, at least on the matter of what he’d done with Anduin’s subordinates, he hadn’t lied. As they came around the corner of the street the alley had opened onto, they soon caught sight of the pair in just the position the Blightcaller had promised. Propped against a crumbling wall, though it was questionable whether or not it was Nathanos or some good Samaritan who’d seen them simply lying in the street and hadn’t been able to leave them who had put them there. The arrows which had administered whatever tranquilizer had been used hadn’t been fired at even half draw. Colliding with just enough force to break exposed skin and drop to the cobbled street outside.

Anduin attempted to step forward towards them but Nathanos stopped him, his grip firm on his upper arm, and produced a vial from beneath his cloak.

Smelling salt.

“Thank you.” A disinterested grunt was all he got in reply. Anduin took the little vial from his hand and uncorked it. Coughing immediately as the full affect of the pale grey herbal salts hit him, the young King passed the vial in front of the Spy Master’s face.

The Rogue stirred and opened his eyes, blinking in an effort to focus them, and then stiffened before reaching for his blades, gaze set on the Dark Ranger.

“At ease, Master Shaw.” The Priest shifted his attention to Valeera before handing the vial back. Nathanos slipped it back into one of the hidden pockets of his armor. Valeera, awake now, and on catching sight of the other man, hissed like an infuriated cat and attempted to lunge for him. Anduin, prepared for this reaction, did his best to restrain her efforts to break free.

“That scheming bastard was _waiting_ for us!” she snarled, fel green eyes ablaze. “The _instant_ you were out of ear shot he took us down!”

“And I falsely promised to come alone, so in that effect we’re even in regards to deception. At least for the time being.” He said. “Thank you, Blightcaller, for withholding the use of full force.”

“In my current position, King Wrynn, I depend for my safety on the strength of the Alliance. It would only be to my detriment to weaken it.”

“True as that is, many wouldn’t be quite so capable of thinking things through to that degree.”

“I’d hardly have reached my position had I been a vapid imbecile.” Nathanos drawled. “I come from better stock than the supposed ‘heroes’ used to fuel the Horde’s war machine!”

“Alliance stock.” Anduin said. “So I suppose I should be saying welcome back.”

The older man made a disgusted sound. “I guess I’ll have to overcome my distaste for blue.”

“Your color preference is the _least_ of your concerns!” Valeera snapped.

Anduin squeezed her in gentle reprimand. “’Leera. We’ve talked about this.” He said. “You told me that you trust my judgement. Now I feel like I’ve been lied to.”

“I do trust you, Anduin. _Him_ however-.”

The young King sighed. “I apologize, Nathanos. Though I supposed it should have been expected that it would be quite some time indeed before you’re not regarded with blatant distrust.”

The look the Dark Ranger sent him in that moment made it plain it would take physical effort for him to care any less. Anduin wasn’t certain how to respond to that.

Clearing his throat, and trying not to think too deeply into the cold calculation on the Spymaster’s face, the Priest said “let’s head back to the portal to Exodar. Transport back to Stormwind should be waiting for us there.” He said. “Is there anything you brought with you that isn’t on you now?”

The Blightcaller’s answer was a shrill whistle, the sound of leathered wings stirring the air reaching them a moment before a massive bat appeared above the crumbling rooftops. Coming in for a rather graceless landing and fixing Anduin in a gaze which left the Priest feeling as if he were being sized up as a meal. Hung over the horn of the saddle was a messenger bag which the Blightcaller pulled down and slung across his shoulders opposite his quiver. Handling it as if it contained something incredibly delicate. Anduin raised an eyebrow but determined to bring up the matter later.

“I take it I’ll be escorted to my ‘quarters’ once we arrive in Stormwind, my King?” those red eyes were equal parts mocking and demanding. Valeera bristled beside him but kept quiet.

“I’ll escort you myself and see to it that you’ll be given access to everything that you feel you’ll need. Your time in the catacombs shouldn’t be more than a few hours at most.” Anduin said. “However loose your allegiance may be, and however selfish the motive, you’ve lent your arrows and your knowledge to our cause. In return you deserve the same respect and consideration I’d afford to any other friend of Stormwind be they long time aids like the Gnomes and Dwarves or newer ones like the Lightforged or Void Elves.”

“How quaint.”

“How dare you!” Valeera spat, rounding on the Dark Ranger. Anduin briefly considered restraining her again but, for the time being at least, as she wasn’t reaching for her daggers, decided doing so wasn’t quite necessary. “By all rights Anduin should have burned your message and left you to the crows, yet he’s taken you under his protection! The least he deserves is to be treated with respect!”

“His protection is granted in return for my service to the Alliance, Blood Elf. ‘Respect’ was never a part of the bargain.” Nathanos hissed. “I’ve no intention or remaining past the end of this war, and it would take a far longer time than that for a self-righteous fool to stand even a chance at my respect.”

“King Anduin will gain your respect long before you gain Stormwind’s trust, Blightcaller.” Mathias’ voice was stern and level, his tawny eyes frigid and fixed on the other man. “SI:7 is watching you.”

“’Watch’ all you like. Just be mindful not to lose an eye.”

“Enough.” Anduin’s voice wasn’t sharp but it was firm. Mathis didn’t look away from Nathanos but the Blightcaller’s attention redirected entirely, the message he didn’t regard the Rogue as a threat of any form plain. “I understand the three of you feel the need to posture at that years of fighting on the opposite sides of the battle field can’t simply be put aside in a single night but I can’t allow that posturing to spiral into something more physical. And I draw the line at making threats.”

“My apologies, King Wrynn.”

Valeera looked like she wanted to say something regard the sincerity, or lack thereof, of that apology but held her tongue. Much to Anduin’s relief.

At last removing his hawkish gaze from the other man, Mathias straightened from his coiled stance. “The portal to the Exodar should still be open, King Anduin.” He said. “If we’re finished here?”

“We are.” The young King sent a last wary glance in the riding bat’s direction before turning his back on it. “Lead the way.”

Leaving Shattrath for the Exodar, and then the Exodar for Stormwind went without incident. Anduin had expected nothing less. The young King hadn’t been convinced, however, that their arrival in the ever-overflowing portal room at the top of the Mage Tower would proceed the same way, hence why he’d made a point of having the tower temporarily closed down. Even the Mages who normally frequented the area were gone, and but for the Arcane Golems which lined the walls, the small group found themselves alone.

In the ambient light of the portals Nathanos’ eyes appeared almost violet. Anduin tried desperately not to look. If the Dark Ranger noticed the fact that the King wasn’t looking at his face, but rather at the stone wall behind him, no mention of the fact was made. “Mathias and Valeera will see to it that your riding bat is put up somewhere it will receive proper care without risk of causing panic to my people or pouring fuel onto a rumor mill no doubt already smoldering.” He said. “If you, Blightcaller, would come with me I’ll see to it that you’re set up for the night and that a room is prepared for you in the Keep afterwards.”

“An inordinate amount of trust.” Nathanos said. Valeera looked green in the face with she realization that she agreed with him.

“Quite the contrary. You can’t swing a dead cat in Stormwind Keep without hitting ten of my royal guard at the very least.” He said. “And even if that weren’t the case, for the time being, by your own logic I’ve nothing to fear from you.”

“And when ‘the time being’ has passed?”

“I hope that by then you’re fond enough of me that a dagger in the back won’t be your parting gift.”

The Blightcaller sneered at him. Valeera was openly glaring at the man and Mathias’ expression had returned to the mask of calculation.

“Anduin,” his body guard and adopted sister couldn’t quite keep the worry from her voice. “Are you certain you wish to be alone with him?”

“I had no reason to fear being alone with Turalyon or Alleria, new allies-arguably-though they were at the time. I see no reason not to treat Nathanos the same.” He said. “Our past of enmity aside, I won’t hold such things against him. We’ll continue this in my chambers, if we must, though I’d prefer not to. Blightcaller, if you would?”

“My King.” There it was again. Anduin had to struggle, physically, to keep a shiver from shooting up his spine. Leaving both the Spy Master and Valeera behind with the massive bat, the young King tried his hardest not to allow his thoughts to stray to the man behind him. To how it had felt to have those powerful arms around him. His back pressed against that cold, hard chest.

Feeling heat begin to rise to his face, an off comment he’d heard about the capability of the undead to _smell_ such emotions as fear and arousal floating across his awareness, the Priest recalled a holy verse at random and began repeating it ad nauseum in his head.

Emerging from the Mage Tower and stepping out onto the curving ramp leading down to the green below, Anduin stopped and turned back. Nathanos had stopped as well, his gaze panning out across the city settling in for the night. He couldn’t see his face beneath the enchanted cowl of the cloak that he wore, even the glow of his eyes concealed now, but Anduin allowed himself a brief moment to indulge in staring while almost certain that the other wouldn’t notice.

Once more he found himself wondering what cruel cosmic twist had decided that, of all the Forsaken whom could have reached out to him for help-in truth or pretense-it had to be Nathanos Blightcaller.

It was unacceptable for someone in his position, with his responsibilities and obligations to his people, to have his ‘leanings’, as it were. Especially now that his bloodline had been bottlenecked. Rather than attempt to bottle up his feelings and turn his back on himself entirely, Anduin had made an effort to misdirect those feelings onto an untouchable figure. Someone whom, even in the most absurd of circumstances, he’d never have prolonged contact with. Never end up in the position of having to closely work beside. Choosing a target in the Horde had been easier than Wrathion, the default whom everyone assumed he’d had more to do with than he had and the rumors about whom still persisted, and so Anduin had selected the Blightcaller as his target. A Human, like him, though no longer alive. Built like the farmhands he’d sometimes seen at work while out riding in Elwynn, shirtless in the sun with sweat running down the chiseled muscles of their backs and strong tanned arms. Devoted unquestionably to the Banshee Queen. Embedded within the Horde so thoroughly that the feelings he’d served years as an unknowing lodestone for would never be close enough to distract him or make his life a hell of unrequited feeling the way that falling for someone within the Alliance, or even worse his own court, would.

And now here they were, Light damn them both.

“Welcome to Stormwind.”

No response. It was difficult to tell through the arcane darkness beneath his cowl, but Anduin had little doubt the other man was glaring at him.

They walked in uncomfortable silence, though not for the reason most would be uncomfortable in the presence of a powerful Forsaken. Nathanos still had the satchel formerly hanging from the bat’s saddle horn slung over one broad shoulder and Anduin tried to focus his attention on his curiosity regarding its contents. What could it possibly contain? Keepsakes, perhaps? Belongings he’d managed to salvage from the destruction of the Under City? The question was on the tip of his tongue but Anduin restrained himself from asking.

The chirping of insects and gentle play of water falling into the fountain in the center of the Cathedral District were the only sounds to disturb the night around them as they ascended the stairs of the Cathedral of the Holy Light. The young King pushed open the heavy doors and proceeded up the aisle between the empty pews. The thin trails of grey smoke still curling from the tops of incense burners alerting him to the fact that Laurena and the rest of the Priesthood had only just recently retreated from the sanctuary for the night. Nathanos remained silent as they walked, following on his heels like a hound as he turned a corner and descended the staircase into the catacombs.

“Feels just like home.” The sarcasm in that comment was strong enough to kill a Dragon.

Anduin shifted in discomfort, the movement catching the other man’s attention. Nathanos turned his head sharply, lowering his hood and fixing the King in the red gaze that set his skin alight. He almost stuttered, bit his tongue and winced. Tasting blood. “Is there anything that I can have arranged be brought to you?”

The Dark Ranger Lord considered him for a drawn-out moment, appearing to enjoy slowly roasting the Priest with the flames of his own discomfort-naturally he’d picked up on it-before he said “milk. And meat. It doesn’t matter what sort as long as its raw.”

Raw meat. Right. He’d heard such things about the undead, that the only thing they still had a taste for, that many of them still bothered eating, was flesh. Often times still living. Yet until then, something in Anduin’s mind-something? Who was he kidding, it was that damned attraction-hadn’t allowed that reality to click with any sort of association with Nathanos. It had been foolish of him. And now it was nothing sort of dangerous.

A ghost in the machine which could tip him over the dangerous line he balanced atop and onto an assassin’s blade. It was something better put out of his mind, though at this point that was something easier said than done.

Perhaps impossible.

Using all his noble training Anduin schooled his features into a neutral expression and nodded. “Anything else?”

Nathanos looked as if he wanted to demand being left alone but held his tongue. Of course he would. Whatever job he’d been sent in to do at the Banshee Queen’s behest-kill him, gather information, dismantle the Alliance’s plans from within-it required extended periods of contact between them. Both sides of their game did. A fact which neither of them were particularly thrilled by, though on Anduin’s part it was largely because he was forced to work harder every passing minute to resist making goo goo eyes at the man.

An inordinate amount of mental energy had to be devoted to where his eyes were.

“I’ll see to it that it’s brought to you.”

“You go through all the effort to shut me up in here until news of my arrival suits you, yet you’ll send in servants as if their tongues won’t wag the moment which the chance presents itself?”

Resentment. He didn’t appreciate being passed off to servants, it seemed. Another thing which he sensed lay buried in the shadows of his past. Anduin nodded. “You’re right.” He said. “ ** _I_** will bring you what you’ve asked. Give me a moment.”

Leaving the catacombs and then the cathedral entirely Anduin proceeded back to the keep and into the kitchens. Robby Flay, the Royal Chef, was still at his post; his front and the counter before him white with flour from the pastries he was midway through making.

He looked up when Anduin entered and quickly bowed. “King Wrynn, consider me surprised. What can I do for you, my King?”

“I’ve a bit of an odd request, so I have to ask that you, well, don’t.”

The Royal Chef laughed, knocking flour from his hands. “You may be surprised to hear this, but on more than one occasion your father asked much the same of me.” He said. “What happens in Stormwind’s kitchens stays in Stormwind’s kitchens.”

“I require raw meat. And milk.” As an afterthought Anduin added “and a utensil.”

“Were I not aware King Greymane is off in Boralus at current I might be a bit more concerned. It’s a full moon tonight, isn’t it?” Another chuckle. “I was about to start filling these meat pies, though that meats been mixed with spices. I have some plain as well, if you’d prefer?”

“I think that’s best.” Anduin said. “I’m not certain how he’d take to spices.”

“Oh, so you’re feeding an animal?”

Wasn’t that an unintentionally loaded question? Anduin struggled to shift his expression into something a little less put on the spot. “Some would say yes.”

The chef simply nodded as if that answered all his questions, though Anduin knew full well it didn’t. “Mixed or separate?”

“Separate.” Probably the better bet. And definitely an easier assumption to fix if incorrect.

Nodding and procuring a bowl, cup and spoon from their proper places Robby filled each with their respective contents before handing them over. After thanking him, Anduin made his way back to the cathedral.

He found Nathanos exactly where he’d left him.

“Milk and meat, as requested.”

Snatching both from his grip in place of thanks the Blightcaller said “you look like one of those witless fools who call themselves adventurers, running back to present me bat wings for a pittance of copper with far more pride than they’ve a right to. It’s hardly befitting of a King.”

Well then. “I’ll leave you your privacy.”

“Privacy?”

“To eat.” Not that it was necessarily impolite to be present in the room while someone else was eating but the pale pink mush the Blightcaller was currently combining the ground meat and milk into was making the priest feel mildly ill.

“Eat?” for a moment there Nathanos sounded genuinely confused. Then he registered where Anduin was looking and promptly snapped “this isn’t for me, you _idiot!_ ”

Now it was Anduin’s turn to be confused. If the Dark Ranger wasn’t going to eat the mush he’d gone through the trouble of making than why had he asked for it?

He was presented with the answer before he got the chance to ask. The Blightcaller crouched beside the bag he’d brought with him, set the little bowl aside, and reached inside. Pulling out…

Anduin’s eyes went very round at the sight of what Nathanos held so delicately in his taloned gloves. What first appeared to be a ball of fuzz whimpered and unfurled and raised its head, revealing itself to be a puppy. A very young puppy. He didn’t know much about Dark Hounds, especially the Blighthounds used by the Forsaken-aside from how terrifying it was to have one leap at him on the battlefield-but if he had to guess at its exact age, he’d have put it at somewhere around five months.

Which meant it had been two months old when the Siege of Lordaeron had taken place.

“Most of my hounds fell when the Under City was lost. She’s the sole survivor of my favorite hound’s last litter.” He said, not looking at him. Gently coaxing the little hound to lick small morsels of mush from his fingers. “The Plague we used to scuttle the city almost killed her. And though I’ve managed to keep her alive nothing I’ve done has had long term affect. If something doesn’t change…”

Red eyes fell heavily on him. In that moment Anduin couldn’t help but be impressed at the sheer power held by the sympathy card the other man had just attempted to pull. The dread ace of ‘small fuzzy animal in legitimate distress’ wasn’t something he’d have expected from the Blightcaller.

“I’m a healer, Nathanos, and a diplomat. Far more so than I’ll ever be a warrior.” He said, kneeling beside him. “Where I’ve little knowledge of animals, perhaps I can help?” Would the Light have a detrimental effect on the hound? It wasn’t undead, that much he knew, but certain types of Dark creatures were known to have adverse reactions to Holy magic. “May I?”

For all that the well-timed stare had been a clear prompt for him to offer aid, there was distrust in the older man’s eyes and it was only with drawn out hesitance that Nathanos handed the little hound over.

Hyper aware of the dagger gaze on him Anduin carefully cradled the little puppy in his gloved hands. Setting the tiny animal down on his lap. Its skin was black and leathery beneath a thin layer of coarse hair and a thick ruff of pale fur ran down the ridge of its spine. Its teeth were hooked and uneven and it looked up at him with wide, fel green eyes. Little horns protruded from just behind its ears.

Anduin reached once more for the Light and felt the Holy power pool at his fingertips as a warm golden glow. Gently guiding it into the little hound. Searching through unfamiliar physiology for things which were obviously out of place and quickly finding it.

The damage wasn’t something he could undo in a single session, or even a small handful of them, but the King had confidence that he’d be able to heal the hound fully if given enough time.

It certainly seemed to be having an easier time breathing now, and licked his hand in thanks. Trying not to focus on the jagged teeth studding its jaw, Anduin began to scratch behind the puppy’s ears.

“She’ll be fine.” He said. “It won’t happen right away, but I’ll be able to heal her.”

The grunt he received in reply was likely the closest thing to a proper thank you he was warranted to get out of the other man.

“Does she have a name?”

The other man ignored him, having resumed the effort to feed the puppy which he’d pried from Anduin’s grip.  The young King decided to interpret the silence in negative.

“Well, can I name her?”

“Absolutely not!” Nathanos snarled.

“Xena.” Anduin said. “Or Cairo.”

The Blightcaller’s growl sounded remarkably like one of his hounds.

“Oh, I know the perfect name!” The young King said excitedly. “Boots!”

Anduin almost leapt out of his skin when the Dark Ranger Lord was suddenly on his feet and looming over him. “Dependent as I may be on your hospitality, _my King_ , my patience is not without limit!” He snapped. “I’ll take you up on your prior offer of privacy.”

There it was once more, in his posture. The barely constrained desire to lash out, held back only by the knowledge that he needed to keep him within arms reach to succeed in whatever orders he’d been given. A safety net of sorts which could be played to his advantage in the future, provided wrong steps weren’t taken now.

Slowly, so as not to risk setting him off with sudden movements, Anduin rose to his feet. “I’ll send out summons to the other leaders tonight and they’ll arrive by morning. Which will allow for reasonable expectation that all will be present at the Lion Seat by midday.” He said. “I ask that you remain out of sight until called for, to give me the needed time to explain matters before the hubbub sure to follow the revelation of your shift in sides.”

A glare in reply. Bidding the other man good night, Anduin once more returned to the keep. Making his way up to the royal chambers where he discovered, as expected, Valeera waiting.

Heaving a tired sigh, the King removed the dark cloak from his shoulders and draped it over the back of the nearest chair. “You told me that you trusted me.”

“And I meant it.” Valeera said. “But it’s a lost cause with the Blightcaller. He’s too devoted to her to have ever ‘fled’, let alone to be flipped.”

“He didn’t flee. He was sent in. And though I can guess at why I can’t be certain.” Anduin moved around the front of the chair from which he’d hung his cloak and sat down. “As for your assertion that he’s ‘too devoted’ to be flipped, I disagree. It will be difficult and require considerable risk as there’s real possibility that his proverbial blunderbuss will go off before mine does.”

“And you’re willing to risk the Alliance being beheaded?”

“In return for what we’d gain by having the Blightcaller legitimately on our side? Yes. Absolutely. Not only is he possessed of intimate knowledge of the Horde beyond what even our best spies could gather, he’s a renowned strategist and responsible for many of the Alliance’s victories during the Third War.” He said. “I know that many think I’m far too trusting but I’m not going into this blind to the potential that I could lose my life in doing this. And don’t think that I’m acting without precaution.”

“Such as?”

“I know that he has sore spots; I can guess at some of them but I’ll need to learn more to discover others. If I can dig my nails in enough, lance the proper boils, I might be able to bring him voluntarily to the notion he’d rather remain at my side than return to hers.”

If not in quite the same capacity. Frowning, Anduin pushed such thoughts away and considered for a moment breaking into the spirit’s cabinet before dismissing the idea.

“Are you sure you’re not a Shadow Priest?”

Anduin rolled his eyes but ignored the comment otherwise. “To that end, I need you to do something for me.”

Valeera tilted her head and blinked at him, her long eyebrows still raised. “And what would that be, little brother?”

“I need you to dig up everything that you can on Nathanos. Both now, as the Blightcaller, and when he lived as Marris. Try not to allow him to become wise to what’s happening when you pass the information to me.” He said. “He’s certain to make every effort that he can to insert himself where he can and get as close to me as he can in order to gain my trust. I intend to meet the moves he makes in kind, but I’ve no doubt that countering alone won’t be enough to buy myself the time I need to win by attrition.”

“So this is a war now?”

“In miniature.” Anduin said. “I plan to delay him in the meanwhile, to prevent him from gaining an advantage on me while I’m still putting together a necessary plan of action.”

“And how,” Valeera asked, “do you intend to delay him?”

“We’re in open warfare with the Horde, Nathanos will need to demonstrate his use and loyalty to the Alliance and I’m sure a situation will present itself which will require a Champion be sent on my behalf.” He said. “In the meanwhile, and afterwards, it would be criminal to allow his skills to go to waste when they could be passed onto a new generation. And I think Stormwind could do with a Ranger corp.”

“Subjecting him to Foxworthy’s baby hunters is a bit too cruel, Anduin. Even considering all he’s done.”

Anduin chuckled along with her and shook his head. “Veteran of the Third War that he is I’m sure being embattled by the inexperience of journeymen will be little trouble.” Reaching up a gloved hand he rubbed at his eyes. “But I should probably be getting around to those letters so that I can retire early. I have the feeling I’ll need the extra sleep.”

“Would you like me to come back around a bit later to take them to the aviary?”

“If you wouldn’t mind, ‘leera, I’d appreciate it.”

“Of course. Good night, Anduin.”

“Good night.” The Priest watched his pseudo sister exit the room before rising from his seat at last with yet another heavy sigh and heading towards the study.


	4. Overplayed Hands

When Anduin reappeared in the doorway of the catacombs, once more dressed in his peasant’s clothing and balancing multiple plates and glasses in his arms, Nathanos treated him to an expression which would have been perfectly at home beside the definition of ‘unimpressed’ in one of the royal library’s dictionary tomes. Anduin smiled in the face of it, doing his best to mask his discomfort, and trotted the rest of the way into the room.

“Good morning.” He chirped beneath that unwavering gaze. “I know these conditions aren’t really ideal. So, I thought I’d make up for it at least a little by treating you to some Stormwind hospitality.”

Silence.

“I should also see to Boots again.”

The unimpressed expression shifted into a glare. “Why do you insist on this stupidity?”

“She needs a name.”

“She’s a war hound not a pet!” Nathanos said. “And bringing me food is a waste. Very few among the undead bother with such things anymore. Eating for pleasure is a waste of time.”

“But you’re able to eat?”

“I don’t see the point in this line of questioning, but yes.”

“You don’t have to eat if you don’t want to but I’d rather not eat alone.” Anduin said, extending the plate and balanced cup of hot tea towards the other man. “And you might like something. The Royal Chef never disappoints.”

Those red eyes shifted, at last, from Anduin’s face to the plate and cup. Seeming to calculate how far forward folding to his ‘infantile demands’ would put him towards his goal and whether or not it would be worth it to refuse.

Ultimately Nathanos took the plate, making a point of picking at it with his fork but never actually eating anything that Anduin saw. Staring directly at him all the while. The King seated himself on the floor and tucked in, eyes falling on the bag which he knew contained Boots when it moved. The puppy’s muzzle soon poked out, nose twitching to investigate the sounds.

“I brought you breakfast too.” A quiet tapping sound from inside the bag followed, which Anduin suspected was the puppy’s wagging tail. Smiling, he took a bite of one of the meat pies Robby had been making the night prior.

“They should all arrive within the next three hours.” He said, nudging at the cup of tea on the floor beside him and making it turn in a circle. The fine china scraping against stone. “It should only take fifteen minutes for me to explain the necessary points before the big reveal can take place. From there you’ll get to watch the fireworks.”

“I’m sure I’ll enjoy the show.” Nathanos drawled. “The mutt will be the grand finale, I take it?”

“I’m going to have to ask you not to call him that. And I’ll be speaking with him regarding civil behavior in your presence as well.” Anduin said, voice firm. “And I doubt he’ll even be present, having already expressed a desire to have as little contact with you-then only known to us as ‘the letter’s sender’-as possible.” A pause. “Tyrande, however…”

The other man made a dismissive noise. Anduin shook his head and set his now mostly empty plate aside. Shifting up onto all fours and shuffling over to the puppy in the bag, ignoring the Blightcaller’s raised eyebrow. “I should be in the throne room when they arrive so I haven’t as much time as I’d like to linger here. May I see to Boots?”

“I don’t know to what you’re referring.” Annoyance laced his tone.

“May I see to ‘the warhound’?”

Nathanos made a hand motion which really could have meant anything. Choosing to interpret it as permission Anduin cautiously lifted the lip of the bag and peered inside. “Hello darling.”

The little puppy whined, tail motoring behind it, and made a failed effort to crawl towards him. Picking it up just as gently as the night prior, once again beneath that burning glare, the Priest set the puppy carefully in his lap. Calling on the Light again as the Blighthound sniffed at his gloves, pawing at the leather. By the time he was finished, though not yet quite able to stand, the puppy had a minorly improved time scooting around once he placed it back in its portable nest.

“I’ll be taking my leave now, Nathanos.” Collecting the dishes he’d brought down with him, aside from the bowl of meat mush for the puppy, Anduin rose onto his feet. “Take everything with you when you leave. As soon as the meeting is over with, you’ll be able to move to proper lodging in the Keep.”

“I don’t exactly have much to leave.”

The comment was an offhand one, meant solely for the sake of being snide, yet it struck Anduin as incredibly sad. This was a man who had once been a decorated hero of the Alliance, a soldier renowned for his strategy and skill, who had lost his life to the Scourge in an effort to defend home and kingdom and then been shackled in undeath. And all he had to show for it now was a weapon, a sick puppy and the armor that he wore.

He doubted Nathanos would take well, at least at this point, to efforts by him to change as much.

Dropping the dishes off in the kitchen and revisiting his chambers long enough to adorn his ceremonial plate and hang Shalamayne at his belt, Anduin found himself back on the Lion Seat with only a handful of minutes left to spare before the other leaders arrived. Receiving confirmation from Valeera that Genn, as well as Jaina, would not be attending the young King was then left alone with the sneaking suspicion there was one extra pair of eyes watching him in that room than there were guards at that particular moment. Though he was forced to give up efforts at finding the source when the doors of the throne room opened to allow his summoned guests inside.

First came the Council of Three Hammers, followed not long after by Mekkatorque absent the titanic mechanized suit in large part due to its inability to fit through the door. Next was Aysa, leader of the Tushui Pandaren, who smiled at him before taking up a place beside Moira and engaging the Dark Iron regent in conversation. His mentor, the ancient prophet of the Draeni, stepped through the doorway in his familiar red and white robes and afforded his student a nod which the Priest happily returned. Bringing up the rear, though no less imposing for it, was Tyrande accompanied by her husband Malfurion. Her white eyes were sharp as they fell on him, cold and unforgiving, and the guilt and horror he’d felt on hearing word of Teldrassil’s burning flooded his system anew.

Turalyon and Alleria weren’t present, though with all of the work the eldest Windrunner sister had in Boralus and the fact that Velen could as easily represent the Lightforged as well as the rest of the Draeni he could understand why.

“Thank you for coming.” He said once he was certain no others were going to arrive, shifting in discomfort atop the Lion Seat. “I’m sure that all of you are wondering why it is that I’ve called you together so suddenly? There has been a small development in our war against the Horde. Small, but never the less incredibly impactful. A devastating advantage gained over the Banshee Queen which may well seal our victory over the Forsaken in the form of an unexpected ally.”

Anduin paused to examine the reactions of his audience before proceeding.

“I received, a few days ago, a letter from a then unknown sender whom claimed to be a member of the Dark Lady’s inner circle desperate for my help. Claiming fear for their life and an inability to reconcile Sylvanas as different from Arthas any longer.” He said. “We arranged a meeting in Shattrath in which I further measured their sincerity and interrogated their story. Ultimately accepting their plea as genuine, granting them the defense of my hand in return for their service to the Alliance under Stormwind’s banner as once they served under Lordaeron’s. But it wasn’t just to alert you to this integral change that I’ve called you all here today, rather because I’d like to make this as official as possible. Upright, as we say. Make it plain that when I grant my protection it is meant and that mistreatment of this person, however temporary their capacity as ally may be, will not be tolerated under my rule.” Sensing movement just to the right of his throne and at last putting together what it meant in correlation to the eyes he’d felt earlier, the young King shook his head and said “on another note, I believe I asked you to remain _outside_ until called for.”

“To the contrary. You requested that I remain _out of sight_ while you explained to this rabble you call a leadership the reality of the situation at hand. A feat beyond trivial for any Dark Ranger, especially one of my caliber.” With a seamlessness which would have left the best SI:7 agents green with jealousy Nathanos materialized from the faint shadows, sticking the landing of his sudden appearance by pulling a bow which was perhaps a bit too mocking to be tolerated. “My liege.”

The uproar was immediate, though it didn’t play out quite as Anduin expected. The most vocal, and most vulgar, were the Dwarven leaders none of whom were particularly shy in regards to rude gestures and crude language in both Common and Dwarvish, though Moira’s outburst was interspersed with the occasional look of concern aimed in his direction. Mekkatorque didn’t look as if he quite knew what to think, suspicion etching his features, though he was protesting the matter on some grounds Anduin couldn’t quite make out due to the Gnome talking too fast in his state of agitation. Aysa seemed concerned, but said nothing, and Velen appeared torn but unwilling to voice either approval or caution leading the Priest to suspect his mentor had seen something of late and that its possible outcome hinged in some way upon Nathanos and his presence at Anduin’s side.

It was the reactions of the Night Elven leaders which had been of his greatest concern given the Blightcaller’s direct hand, under Sylvanas’ orders, in the destruction of Teldrassil and only with considerable hesitation that he looked in their direction though he didn’t allow any of it to show. Tyrande’s posture was curled tighter than a drawn bowstring, her ears pinned back and eyes wide like a cat poised to pounce. Only Malfurion’s restraining hand seemed to keep her from lunging forward, though the Arch Druid didn’t look particularly happy either. No doubt that would come to roost in due time. Talons and all.

“I understand that all of you are…concerned, to say the least, by this revelation. I’ll admit that this is a choice I do not much care for myself, nor one that I take lightly, but what the Alliance gains by this is of too much worth to simply push aside.” He said. “On this matter, if nothing else, I exercise my right as High King to overrule. At least until the end of the war, the Blightcaller isn’t going anywhere.”

When he turned his head again it was to find the Dark Ranger Lord not so inconspicuously staring up at the ceiling. Making a show of only just having noticed his attention, Nathanos’ red eyes shifted over to him inquisitively. “Correct me if I’m wrong in the assumption, but I believe this is the point where the ‘formality’ you mentioned shows itself to be an oath of fealty?”

“If I didn’t think such a flagrant show was necessary, I would never request it.” Anduin said. “But given your very recent past as an enemy of the Alliance unnecessary questions regarding your allegiance cannot be afforded. It would only cause problems for all of us.”

A disinterested grunt in reply. Anduin couldn’t be certain, but he thought he heard Tyrande hiss as he rose from his throne. Doing his best to present himself as every bit the proud, imposing King that his father had been and tamp down all the uncomfortable squiggling feelings which the sight of Nathanos sparked in his belly. Knowing he was failing even without the other man’s viciously amused expression, once more sinking down onto one knee.

“Nathanos Blight-…” pausing, thinking better of it and starting again Anduin said “Nathanos Marris,” the Dark Ranger couldn’t fully conceal a twitch of annoyance at the use of his real name, “you came to me in peace with a plea for protection from retribution by the Dark Lady. I, Anduin Wrynn, King of Stormwind, High King of the Alliance, promise to shield you to the full extent of my power. In return I ask for a pledge of your loyalty and of your skills to Stormwind’s banner. Do you accept these terms in binding contract until the close of this war?”

The Blightcaller glared up at him, annoyance in his eyes at the claim of terms which Anduin had placed on the affair by invoking his living name rather than the title that he’d taken after death. Fully aware of what he’d done and waiting to see how the other man would respond to the challenge Anduin resisted the urge to smile and kept his face carefully somber.

“Anduin Wrynn,” those glowing red eyes remained on his, unblinking, and the King had to struggle not to look away himself, “I came to you in desperation as a beaten hound to a new master. I, Nathanos…” a hesitance, features briefly distorting into an expression of disgust, “Marris accept your offered hand and the aforementioned terms in binding contract until the close of this war.”

Oath given and accepted, all that remained of matters was to seal it in the traditional manner, and now it was Anduin’s turn to hesitate. Pulse quickening. At once feeling hot enough to melt and as cold as if he’d been doused in run off from the high mountains. The others were still watching, logically he knew that, but it didn’t truly register. Time had slowed to a crawl. All of his focus was centered on the man before him. Scarlet eyes like fire flushing him with uncomfortable heat, a flicker of vengeance-vicious and smug-buried in those blazing pits as the Priest forced his arm forward.

Nathanos took his hand, one claw scraping gently along the underside of his wrist as if to highlight his racing heart rate which-Anduin realized with a sudden sinking feeling that nearly turned his face red to his ears-the other man could no doubt clearly hear. Raising it to kiss the ring on his finger. ‘Accidentally’ misplacing his aim enough to brush cold lips-dry and slightly chapped, accompanied by the scratch of facial hair-against his hand. Never once looking away.

 _Oh, fuck me._ Anduin wasn’t certain in which context, precisely, he meant that thought but doubted he’d ever been more thankful to be dressed in full plate.

Clearing his-suddenly very dry-throat in a-futile-attempt to ground himself once Nathanos had released him, both from his grip and his gaze, Anduin allowed his hand to fall back to his side.

“I’d like to thank you all again for coming today.” Anduin forced his gaze to remain dead forward despite the desire of his eyes to dart immediately back to Nathanos as he rose back to his full height. “It was with each of your strengths in turn that the Alliance has endured up until now, and with your support that we will continue to do so. When there comes to be a development in the war, I’ll see to it that the news is spread immediately through the necessary channels. All of you are welcome to remain in Stormwind for as long as you wish. Nathanos, if you’d accompany me?”

“As my King commands.” With a final smug definitely not aimed in the direction of the Night Elves glance Nathanos fell into step behind him-so close he was all but treading on his heels-and followed Anduin out.

The echoing groan of the heavy doors juttered through the cavernous hall. After proceeding far enough away from the doors to not be within earshot of the throne room he stopped and turned towards the other man.

“I’ll concede that in this instance I needed to be clearer, but in the future Nathanos I will not be so lenient in flaunting my orders.” Anduin said softly, keeping his voice firm. The Blightcaller’s gaze was impassive. “I will not allow myself to be painted as weak. In the eyes of my allies or of the Horde. I can’t afford it.”

“The Horde does not consider you to be weak, Anduin. Nor does Sylvanas. Nor do I. Not having seen what you did at Lordaeron.” Nathanos stepped closer. Drawing up on him. Stopping only once they were nearly chest to chest, happy to watch him catch fire again beneath his gaze. “Soft, however? I don’t think there’s any arguing that point. Regardless of malicious compliance.”

“It’s interesting that you draw a difference between the two.”

“Only a dunderhead wouldn’t! Or an Orc. Weakness lacks power. Softness refuses to use it, for any number of inane and pointless reasons.” He said. “My point, King Wrynn, is that a Dragon which refuses to breathe fire for fear of immolating innocents alongside its enemies is as much a threat to them as a new born deer, and will fair just as well against a pack of hungry wolves.”

“It may be true that all is fair in love and war,” Anduin said, “but I’d prefer being able to live with myself once all of this is over.”

“Rather presumptuous that you’ll live that long, thinking like that.”

“Presumptuous?” Anduin forced a slight smile onto his face despite the heady rush of nerves thudding through his veins, instigated by having the other man so close. Catching himself leaning in, pulled forward by the intensity of those sanguine eyes. “I’d disagree. From all I’ve heard of you, Nathanos, you’re a considerable force to be reckoned with. And as you’ve mentioned before, your protection from Sylvanas’ retribution is dependent on your position in the Alliance which is likewise dependent on my survival as none of the other leaders are particularly inclined towards sympathy for your situation. Soft or not, I’m certain you’ll protect me should the need arise. If only out of self-preservation.”

A drawn-out silence in which Nathanos seemed to consider how to answer before, finally, saying “of course. But only until my survival no longer depends on yours.”

“And after that?” if he leaned just a little further, he’d no longer be standing by his own power. Could pass it all off as losing his balance. A mistake. Would have another chance at feeling those arms around him, if only for the split second it took Nathanos to push him away. Provided the Dark Ranger Lord didn’t simply side step and watch him face plant.

Anduin briefly cursed the plate he’d been so thankful for just moments before, quickly reprimanding himself and rocking back on his heels. This was precisely the sort of behavior that would lead to him losing the game playing out between them. Unfortunately, stopping was easier said than done.

Fortunately, at least for the time being, the Blightcaller seemed rather gun shy himself and the comment, tinted with far more unintentional flirtation than either of them were comfortable with, made him blink. The Dark Ranger stepped back from him, renewed distance breaking the moment’s coiled tension. “I believe I was being escorted somewhere?”

Anduin nodded and stepped away as well. Turning his back on Nathanos and starting towards the staircase. “If you’d follow me, your chambers ought to be ready.”

The reality of the fact that proper chambers, for an undead, were unnecessary was known to both of them but acknowledged by neither in that moment. The Blightcaller trailing behind him onto the upper floor of the Keep. Down winding halls hung with oil parchments and tapestries-made to look old, but in truth replicas of originals which had been destroyed during Stormwind’s sacking-they went, stopping outside a heavy wooden door which Anduin pushed open.

There were two windows in that room, facing northward towards the mountains while Anduin’s own faced westward towards the sea. The walls were clean white stone. The floors the same sturdy wood which made up the furniture. As instructed, the blue and gold bedding formerly present had been replaced with a neutral color.

“These are your chambers. Yours and Boots’.” Beyond a glare, Nathanos refused to dignify his use of the name he’d given the puppy with a response. “If nothing else it’ll give you a place that’s yours. To keep belongings. To be alone if…that’s what you wish.”

“You sound as if that isn’t something _you_ wish.”

“I wish for you to be comfortable here.”

“Comfortable.” The Blightcaller didn’t simply repeat the word, he rolled it around in his mouth as if tasting it and Anduin was once again struck by the power his voice possessed. Pale lips curled upwards, a smile with no teeth that was about as friendly as an assassin’s blade. “You don’t seem ‘comfortable’ around me, my Liege. Though in a notably different way than most.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Only an utter incompetent would for a moment believe _that_ little claim.” Nathanos said. “You’re a terrible liar.”

The Priest fidgeted but stood his ground. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The Dark Ranger’s indulgent hum masked the threat of his hunting stalk, and by the time Anduin realized what was happening it was too late to react. His back hit the stone wall with the muted clang of plate. Nathanos’ larger body keeping him pinned, firm but not painful, like a cat toying with a captured mouse. His blue eyes, wide with surprise, reflected in the Blightcaller’s gaze.

“You don’t know what I’m talking about?” Nathanos easily kept both his wrists captive with one hand, the other supporting his weight against the stone wall behind them. “Then allow me to lay it out simply enough so that even an Orcish peon would be able to understand. I know what fear smells like. And you, Wrynn. You smell like something,” he tucked his face into the crook of his neck and inhaled, Anduin squirming in a doomed attempt to escape, “ _else_. Not to mention that I’m aware of certain rumors. And the constantly dilated pupils, well, they’re rather suspicious.”

This was bad! This was worse than bad! It had been hard enough to keep his head on straight when Nathanos had been-seemingly-unaware but now that he’d doubtlessly begin to leverage it as a weapon? Briefly, in large part due to spur of the moment panic, the phrase ‘abort mission’ popped into his head before being shoved aside. Attempting to regain control of the situation, Anduin cleared his throat and said “what, precisely, are you suggesting Blightcaller? Even if I were so inclined, I could hardly afford to risk myself with such a thing, and on your end not only do we barely know each other but with rumors of how things were between the two of you I find it impossible that you’ve so quickly put aside what was between you and the Banshee Queen. Emotional attachments, love or otherwise, aren’t that weak!”

“’Emotional attachment’ is the first thing to rot, Wrynn. I’m no longer capable of such a thing, let alone of forming new ones.” He growled. “Much to my misfortune undeath doesn’t cure one of their sex drives, provided their body is still capable of such things. Mine is, at current, and they say you’ve a taste for the sort of forbidden fruit which could see you booted off the throne though you’ve yet to take a bite of the apple. Ours is already a relationship of quid pro quo so I see no reason the scratching can’t extend to inconvenient appetites.”

Unable to tug himself free of the other’s unyielding grip-bordering on painful, though he doubted that was by intention, and no doubt destined to leave behind bruises-Anduin did the only thing he could think of and summoned a barrier. Small, only large enough to encompass his hands, but bright enough to temporarily blind anyone whose eyes hadn’t adjusted to the sunlight outside. It hadn’t touched him, the Priest had made certain of that, but never the less the other man hissed as if scalded and was across the room so quickly it was as if he’d disengaged.

There was resentment in those red eyes now. Anduin struggled not to cringe as he went for the door. “Excuse me.”

Nathanos watched his swift escape in silence.

Anduin didn’t stop until he’d made it back to his chambers and swiftly shut the door behind him.

“Are you alright?” he nearly leapt out of his skin, turning wide eyes onto Valeera. His self-appointed elder sister appeared genuinely concerned, eyes wary and ears tilted back. “What happened in the throne room?”

“Nothing happened in the throne room.” A lie. The ring incident had happened but Anduin would rather not think about that while in his current state. “The problem is what happened afterward! I’d hoped I’d be able to keep matters in hand but clearly, I’ve met with scintillating failure! Two days and he’s figured it out, if he hadn’t the minute we met!”

“Figured it out as in knows that you’re into something a bit different, because if that’s the case all he did was take a blind stab at rumors which is hardly groundbreaking, or figured it out as in knows that you’ve been using him as a nurse object since the day you hit puberty? Because if that’s the case than I’m impressed: he works fast and needs to teach me his ways.”

“Not helping.” Anduin groaned.

The Rogue laughed, wrapping a comforting arm around the massive pauldrons he still wore. “What, precisely, makes you think he knows?”

“Because he just came onto me like a Kodo in heat!”

Valeera stared at him for a solid minute, then asked “so you’re giving up on this ridiculous plan?”

“Giving up?” he shook his head. “No of course not.”

“Of course not.” Valeera sounded more worn out than anything. “Because that would make too much common sense.”

“Are you suggesting I lack common sense?” he sounded less offended than he’d meant to.

The Rogue smirked. “Honey, you’re not common enough to have common sense. If you _did_ have common sense, you’d boot him back to Zandalar right this very minute, preferably wrapped in chains, instead of allowing him to make things…more physical than I’d really prefer anyone being with you ever.”

“What?”

“I don’t much like the thought of my little brother getting hot and heavy with anyone, certainly not the bloody Blightcaller! Bite me!”

“Who said I was going to get ‘hot and heavy’ with anyone?”

“You did.”

“I thought we agreed you were going to stop watching me sleep, ‘Leera!” Anduin squeaked, before realizing what he’d practically admitted to and going scarlet.

“I’m not going to judge the…questionable things you may or may not dream about. Or divulge in your sleep.” Valeera said. “However, I will remind you that you made a point of asserting an intention to meet him move for move. Well, he’s made his move. And if you really had met it, I’d imagine we wouldn’t be talking right at the minute because you’d still be...busy.”

Face still red and only getting darker, Anduin spluttered a few times before remembering how to properly form words. “Move for move except for **_that_**! There’s too much risk that I’ll slip up! Won’t be able to keep myself removed enough to win.”

“To win.” She repeated, then sighed. “Light damn it, don’t think for a moment that I’m advocating the two of you actually ever ending up together in a relationship of any sort because I’d really rather not ever _ever **ever**_ think about you and him together in any capacity at all but tell me something, would you? What’s your real motivation here? Are you trying to save him, and gain an advantage for the Alliance as a side benefit, or is the advantage to the Alliance the entire point? Is he a man to you, or a hound? A tool?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“It was before my time, I’ll admit, but Quel’thalas is still my homeland. And I know about Sylvanas Windrunner. Even as Ranger General she viewed those around her, first and foremost no matter what their relationship otherwise was, as tools to be used. ‘Arrows in her quiver’ if you would. Even him, I don’t doubt.” She said. “I readily admit that I’m far from the end all be all on this sort of subject but if you want this to end well you need to remember where your power comes from.”

He tilted his head. “The Holy Light?”

“Love, you blockhead!” She said. “Consider this: if anyone can love hard enough to use it as a weapon it’s you. But that’s only if you lean into it instead of shying away for fear of gambling too much. Sometimes you have to leap into the jaws of the beast to keep its teeth from crushing you.”

Anduin sighed and shook his head, suddenly looking years older than she felt he had any right to. Reaching up to free himself from the ceremonial plate. Struggling to put the enduring sensation of cold lips and wiry beard against his neck out of his mind. The tenderness of bruises budding along the thin bones of his wrist where the other man’s grip had pressed the bracers in. “I need to go to the cathedral to clear my head. I’m not in any state to make decisions now. And I think I may try to keep my distance from him for a few days, if at all possible.” He said. “Have you found anything yet?”

“A bit, but not quite enough for my first report.” Valeera said. “I need another day or two.”

“Thank you, Valeera.” Anduin said, sounding tired, turning towards the door. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be there, please don’t worry if my return is late.”

“Should I alert people to where you’ve gone, if I’m asked?”

“Only if my attention is an absolute necessity.”

“Alright.” Valeera watched him go, unable to hide the concern on her face though, thank the Light, no one was watching.


	5. Not That Which is There, But Rather That Which Isn't

               Lyana Shadowsong, as she’d once been known in life, had never been a fan of Nathanos Blightcaller. Even back when he’d gone by the name of Marris. Humans, to her, had always been little different than the Orcs. Uncouth, uncultured brutes who they’d made the mistake of teaching magic and then again of forging an alliance with. Their only redeeming feature the brevity of their lives. When it had first come to light that the eldest and youngest Windrunner sisters both had taken Human men as their lovers, left Quel’thalas or ‘gone to war’ to be with them and wound up with half breed bastards she’d reflected at once on the sad descent of the once proud bloodline and relief that one Windrunner, at least, was immune to such things. Even with the rumors going around regarding the true nature of the relationship between the pair. More than mentor and student. More than superior and subordinate. Rumors, nothing more, and foolish ones at that. Ridiculous assertions with no grounds in sense.

               When Arthas had come, had leveled their home and slaughtered their people, she had, before her death, felt vindicated in the rightness of her belief in their barbarity. After her freedom she’d been pleased to see Nathanos was not with them. Had hoped he’d been left rot, or even escaped the Scourge’s advance with his life if only to never be forced to see him again but reality had crashed down on her when the Dark Lady had proceeded to drag them across the ruined lands which had once been Lordaeron in search of him.

They’d found him reduced to little more than what she’d always known he was. A beast.  Covered in blood and rotted through. Teeth bared, revealing the strings of flesh caught between them from the women whose throat he’d just ripped out. Eyes dull and uncomprehending. He’d snarled and moved to attack them, with bare hands not a weapon, only for Sylvanas to fill his legs with arrows. Pin him in place without doing real harm. The howling ghoul wasn’t stopped from making a continued effort to claw his way across the ground and bite them.

She’d dared to hope, for a brief moment, that Sylvanas would put the wretched creature down then and there. But she hadn’t. She’d called his name, time and again, with what almost amounted to a stalwart desperation until-against all odds-she’d received recognition in reward. Drawing her name from the fiend in a dry, rasping voice followed swiftly by a concerted effort to hide himself. As if realizing, at last, his lack of worth. Horrified by the prospect of subjecting their Queen to his presence.

Much to her distaste, upon the reclamation of the ruins of Lordaeron from the forces of the Scourge and the completion of the Undercity which Arthas had begun to build beneath it, he’d been returned his rank of Ranger Lord but, though ever loyal-at least so it had seemed-he remained distant. Staying far away on the decrepit Marris stead, kept company only by the drooling Dark Hounds that he bred and the occasional band of vapid Alliance ‘heroes’ who couldn’t make out when someone was dead versus simply playing possum.

Lyana would have preferred that things remained that way, that the Dark Lady forget that a man named Nathanos Marris had ever existed at all or at least that she be given time enough apart that whatever residual emotion remained between them would wither away into nothingness. For a time, after Arthas had been defeated and they’d left the North behind forever, it had seemed that was precisely what would happen.

Then the Legion had returned. Sylvanas, out of some foolish sentiment which Lyana had hoped her above, had wasted her strongest asset on restoring _him_ to his former strength, and in response-though he’d still kept his distance from their Queen-the Blightcaller had forgotten his place.

And now he’d vanished. Up in smoke.

The insufferable cur wasn’t one prone to subjecting himself to others’ presence, outside of flights of spite in which he realized they would suffer more for it than he would, and thusly it was far from uncommon for him to retreat into extended periods of solitude but it was uncommon that he’d do so while under acting orders from Sylvanas to keep an eye on the Zandalari. Combining his sudden disappearance with his strange behavior just prior to it and the oddities of a sudden interest in Bloodhoof’s company…Lyana found herself possessed of the sneaking suspicion that the Blightcaller had attempted a desertion.

And that was a crime punishable by second death. If she could prove that he hadn’t simply entered into another of his self-imposed isolations she stood a chance at being rid of the Human whom, since she’d first met him, had refused to accept his appropriate position: inherently less because he wasn’t an Elf, no matter how skilled at a bow and arrow or hunting Orcs. Unworthy to be at the Dark Lady’s side in any capacity.

Ducking through the building’s low-slung doorway Lyana pulled the cowl of her rain scaled cloak down, spattering the stone with droplets of water and allowing raven curls to fall about her shoulders. Vorel, propped against the wall while in the process of restringing her bow, and the Commander of the Deathstalkers.

“Lyana,” Vorel said, “might I ask why it is that you’ve called the two of us here? Where is Nathanos? Surely he ought to be made aware if somethings happened.”

“What’s happened is the Blightcaller’s absence. I haven’t seen him since our return after clearing out the Blood Trolls.” She told the other Dark Ranger. “It coincides with an uptick in Alliance activity in the area. I find myself concerned.”

“It’s not as if you’ve ever seen eye to eye with him.” The Deathstalker Commander said. It took concentrated effort on her part not to glare. “Why the sudden change?”

“I never made a secret of the…contention between us. That having been said, I’d never wish the Alliance on him. Not to mention how damaging to us the information that he holds could be if it were to fall into Wrynn’s hands.”

“Nathanos would never give up anything to Anduin or his lackies. Even if they did manage to capture him. Which I doubt, given how their past efforts at killing him went.”

“And if he left of his own accord?” she asked, tone casual. Examining her nails. “Joined them, even?”

Both stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. “I see no reason to make the leap that that scenario.”

“ _I see every reason_!” Lyana snapped, then quickly reigned in her tone. “As things stand our victory, through attrition if nothing else, is assured. But the Blightcaller is too powerful and too informed of certain…delicate matters for us to simply assume he’s hidden himself away again. If he’s gone to Wrynn he needs to be put to end, and quickly.  As a matter of fact, the Dark Lady would no doubt want a personal hand in matters if that is the case. If, for whatever reason, he’s simply attempted to cut and run we can deal with him with less immediacy.”

“And if he’s just held up on the _Blightcaller’s Solitude_ where it’s still anchored off the coast of Nazmir? Or has actually been captured?”

“Then we carry on as normal. And, obviously, retrieve him.”

“You really expect us to believe that this is merely out of charity?”

Lyana leveled Belmonte in a torching glare. “We’ve never been about ‘charity’ and it’s never bothered you before.” She snapped. “This is about benefiting our efforts. Ensuring our survival. And putting theirs at detriment. Any other objections?”

The other two looked at each other but said nothing.

“Now that that’s settled, we should make a last thorough check of the area to make absolutely certain he hasn’t interred himself in a cave or some other such nonsense in order to rid himself of all of us.”

“You haven’t looked already?”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Vorel! Of course I’ve looked but three can cover more ground than one and there may have been something I missed.” She said. “Come along. We’ve no time to waste.”

Pulling up her hood once more Lyana struck back out into the rain aware that they had followed her but not bothering to look back. On account of the turn of the weather, though living in such a climate one would have imagined they’d be used to it by now, the streets were empty of merchants civilians and guardsmen alike. The only things still on patrol were the ancient stone and gold constructs of which the Zandalari seemed so fond.

Their first stop was the aviary where they were quickly fixed in the yellow gazes of a handful of damp, unhappy pterrodax. There was one less riding bat among them than there should have been.

“Bloodwing is gone.” Vorel said. “He’s definitely not somewhere in the city, then. Though it’s possible he’s still in the area.”

“I think it’s a bit swift to discount the possibility that he’s simply flown down to the docks.” Belmonte said. “This city, at times, can have a layout which is incredibly inconvenient.”

“You think he’s battened down on _The Banshee’s Wail_?”

“You’ve said yourself that it’s best we investigate every possible avenue Lyana.”

The Dark Ranger glared at the man, but huffed and relented. If only because she realized that her own words hadn’t left her another choice. “To the docks, then.”

Their riding bats didn’t seem any more pleased than the Zandalari Pterrodax were at being forced out into the rain, glaring and chittering in complaint before allowing them up onto their backs and soaring out over the ancient city. Circling down to land at the gilded docks minutes later in the shadow of _The Banshee’s Wail_. The hulking ghost ship creaked and groaned as it listed on the harbor’s waves. Their footsteps thudding against the bowing boarding dock.

Lyana scanned the rain swept deck with glowing eyes but found no signs of anyone.  No crew. No Blightcaller.

“Shall we check below deck?” Vorel asked. “He never was particularly fond of ending up soaked, if preventing it was possible, so I doubt we’d find Nathanos stood out in the driving rain.”

“No need.” Belmonte said. “Look.”

With the flapping of feathered wings barely audible over the storm the Val’kyr which had been circling the mast descended onto the deck. Landing some distance away and observing them in silence for a drawn-out moment. “Has the Dark Lady sent word?”

“No.” Lyana said. “None of us have seen the Blightcaller in a number of days, and the coincidence of his disappearance with an increase in 7th Legion activity is concerning.”

Kyra continued to stare at them for a time before she answered. “When last I saw Nathanos it was a number of days ago. He’d been below deck when one of the Zandalari came aboard with a message, though I didn’t hear what it was about. He left with him, though they went in different directions.”

“Where did the Blightcaller go?”

“Deeper into Dazar’alor. Beyond that, I can’t be certain.”

“Did he return?” Lyana asked.

“Briefly.” Kyra said. “When he left again it was headed towards the district which the Nightborne have all but overrun.”

“Thank you, Kyra.” She said. “We’ll head over to Thalyssra’s…people and see what they have to tell us.”

The Val’kyr didn’t remain on the deck for long after that, spreading her wings and once more lifting off into the sodden sky. Vorel turned to her and asked “what could Nathanos possibly want with the Nightborne? He’s never had a particular interest in the Arcane, though I’d never call him anything but skilled in our magics. In life and death.”

“I’m not certain.” But she could guess.

Belmonte sighed, the sound harsh and abrasive as it rattled in his withered lungs. “I hate to suggest such a thing but it’s starting to look as if Nathanos may have attempted to leave the Forsaken. Though what could possibly have driven him to such thing I can’t imagine.” He said. “There were none among us more devoted to the Dark Lady.”

“What do we do now?”

“Isn’t it obvious, Vorel? We find out what he wanted with the Nightborne and hunt down where he’s gone.”

“I still think it’s a bit presumptuous to think that simply because-.”

“I don’t know about you, Vorel, but the first thing I think of when I hear ‘Mage’ is ‘portal’. And what better way to get far away quickly and without notice?” Lyana snapped. “And why, if nothing wrong is being done, would he _need_ to go unnoticed?”

“I’m sure he has his reasons. Perhaps he was sent away on orders we aren’t aware of and the secrecy is a simple product of a desire to go unnoticed by any SI:7 who might be lurking around. Maybe he felt a misplaced need to take care of something on his own without orders and didn’t want us to interfere. Maybe he took a portal to one of the other areas of Zandalar as opposed to walking or flying because he wanted a change?”

“What are you suggesting, Vorel?”

“That hounds don’t so suddenly bite the hand which feeds them!” She said. “There’s none of us more loyal to her than he is, for better or worse. I need far more evidence than this to even entertain the possibility he’s left, let alone betrayed us.”

“And we’re only going to _get_ that evidence by figuring out whether or not it was a portal he was after, and to precisely where.” Lyana said. “Now come on, _before_ we’re washed away!”

A bit of a moot point now, considering that all three of them were now so soaked that Belmonte’s usually spiked hair had begun to drape down around his rotted face, lending him the appearance of some strange wilting plant.

Vorel sighed but nodded. “Very well,” she said, “let’s go.”

Returning to their bats and mounting up, the trio made their way away from the docks and into the section of the city which the Nightbourne had all but taken over.

In spite of the persistent rain many of them were still outside, no doubt stuck on the novelty of it all after 10,000 years without weather. They approached the first one they saw, who watched their approach with wary eyes and was quick to send them along with the answers they were looking for: Nathanos had gone to a Runemage named Qecies Sullel.

 They found said Runemage not long after, up to his studded ears in some sort of enchanting powder.

“And I thought I’d be given more of a break from the lot of you after the Blightcaller all but kicked down my door and demanded my services.” He grumbled, not looking up from the crystal in his hands. “I don’t know what sort of spliced together magery you in the Horde have been using up until now but portals aren’t something I can simply pull from beneath my robes on a whim. Especially to such a ridiculously obscure place! Have you any idea how expensive those old reagents are now a days?”

“Old reagents?” Lyana repeated. “Just where did he go, exactly?”

Resentful white eyes were turned on them, then. “Shattrath.” He said. “Let me guess, ‘Dark Rangers’, you’re going to demand I make another portal so that you can follow him?”

Pulling a coin purse from her belt, Lyana threw it down onto a nearby table where it landed with the heavy clatter of its contents. “Will this cover the cost?”

The Runemage set the crystal aside and overturned the purse, spilling gleaming coins across the worn wood. Looking up at them a moment later with pursed lips and glaring eyes.

It was something of a surprise that the portal they were granted didn’t drop them off the side of the cliff which the Scryers had claimed all those years before, during the height of the fighting on Draenor’s broken shell. There were no immediate signs of Nathanos or where he might have gone, though by now, almost a week after his disappearance, she’d hardly expected anything different.

Looking around and catching sight of a pair of standing guards, Lyana motioned for the other two to follow and started towards the nearest guard.

Dressed in the typical style of Silvermoon and holding the same armaments he looked over at their approach in confusion. “We haven’t seen much of the Horde in years, and now I’ve seen three Dark Rangers in about as many days.” He said. “I didn’t notice the Blightcaller return, though change of shift wasn’t until late. I assume you’ve come for him?”

“We have.” Vorel said. “Do you have any idea where he might have gone?”

“The Lower City.” He said. “Beyond that I’m afraid I can’t be of any help.”

“Thank you.” It didn’t need to be said that the Lower City was thereby their next destination and the trio made their way over to the lift which would take them down off the Scryer’s Rise.

The ruined city of Shattrath was much quieter now than it had been almost a decade before, a quiet abandoned corner of a likewise abandoned world. Scanning the area as they walked, steering clear of the central building which contained the Na’aru. Seeking signs of where the Dark Ranger Lord may have gone. Rusted metal. Crumbling buildings. Walls overgrown with twisted vines.

Then, amid the broken stones which lined the roads, something caught the sunlight. Lyana bent down to pick it up.

An arrow, unmistakably of Forsaken make, fletched with raven feathers. An oily substance slathered its head.

“Silverleaf.” Lyana said, passing it beneath her nose. “Briarthorn. Shadow oil. A tranquilizer.”

“He wasn’t shooting to kill.” Vorel said. “That’s unlike him.”

“Which means its unusual that he carries a vial of tranquilizer with him.” Belmonte said. “Whatever he came here to do, it was planned in advance. Some days, at the very least. The more than likely conclusion would be a meeting.”

“But with who, or what, was it? And where did he go?”

“With the arrows he should have known better than to leave behind we have the necessary means to find out.” Reaching into the bag at her side and rummaging around for a handful of moments, Lyana drew out a small fistful of reagents. Dried Firebloom, Wizard Oil and powdered Worg fang. “Give me something to mix this in, one of you!”

Belmonte quickly unbuckled one of his daggers pulling the blade from its sheath and handing the empty sheath over. The Dark Ranger quickly made use of the less than ideal container, the resultant oil being poured over the arrow in her hand before balancing it on her open palm. “Bor’gol mandos sturume.” The harsh tones of Gutterspeak would have drawn attention had anyone been in the area to look. The spell causing the arrow to begin to wobble like the hand of a compass before settling on a direction. “That way.”

They started down the street, rounding a corner a short time later and finding themselves standing outside of another building in such a state of ruin it was left entirely uninhabited. But the arrow wasn’t finished, wavering for a moment before turning round about again.

“He was here, but not for very long.” Vorel said. “This building is out of the way. It would be a good place to speak without risk of being overheard. Or seen.”

“And continuing to follow the path he took may lead to answers as to whom that was with.” Belmonte said.

“Indeed.” Lyana said. “Let’s not waste time.”

They were led back the way they’d come by the arrow and then passed where they’d found the only signs the Blightcaller had left behind lying on the cobblestones. A netherdrake whirled lazily overhead, eddies of violet light trailing from its wings. An Elekk mounted Peacekeeper lopped by on one of the many elevated walkways which spanned the city. A small group of Ethereals engaged in the in no way suspicious act of moving numerous mana cells stopped what they were doing to watch them pass with narrowed eyes, their bandaged faces set into expressions of distrust.

Aldor Rise was the highest spire in Shattrath, built atop the ruins of what had once been the city’s holiest temple. The Draeni posted at the bottom of the lift eyed them coldly but made no attempt to prevent them from boarding nor did the guards at the top attempt to turn them away.

“Why would he have gone here?” Vorel’s red eyes cautiously regarded the area, uncomfortably aware of the leaden gazes of the nearby Anchorites. “The Draeni are members of the Alliance. Not to mention zealots of the Light. Our state would hardly lead them to being in any way fond of us.”

Then again, Nathanos had shown himself to possess just that sort of vindictive streak, as she’d reflected on before. Had shown a measure of it even while alive.

“Nathanos disappeared from Dazar’alor without notice, presumably to attend a planned meeting with someone in secret. Two arrows were left behind while the meeting took place in another, more out of the way location. Almost as if they were used to tranquilize a pair of guards beforehand. That his path leads here strongly suggests his contact was a part of the Alliance.” Belmonte said. “Who in the Alliance would require guards wherever they went and have the needed authority to meet with an enemy in a circumstance which, by the tranquilizer’s use, was meant to be friendly?”

“One of their leaders.” Vorel said. “But which one?”

“There’s no question ‘which one’!” Lyana snapped. “There’s only one person it could be. Only one in any way attached to the Tauren Blightcaller was so defensive about being caught speaking with. Only one who could be bothered to entertain thoughts of meeting with a Dark Ranger off the field of battle. He’s gone to Wrynn!”

“He’s betrayed us.” Resignation. A touch of horror. Vorel shook her head. “But why? After what they did to the Under City…”

“It doesn’t matter why! Only that it’s happened!” She said. “Something must be done!”

“But what?”

“Before anything else,” Belmonte said, “we must inform the Banshee Queen.”

“Before anything else?” Lyana scoffed. “Don’t be stupid, Deathstalker Commander! For some reason I can’t understand, though I suspect has its roots in some sort of sentimentality I’d prefer to think her immune to, the Dark Lady has always made exceptions for him! Before anything else, we need to catch him _red_!”

“How?” the other Dark Ranger demanded, ears tilting back. “Hunting him down in Stormwind’s streets and confirming that he’s really there? That’s madness, Lyana, especially after we’ve already once broken in to free Princess Talanji and the Dark Prophet from their stockades. Their guard is bound to be heightened now. The necessary preparations to pull such a thing off would take days to make.”

“Well then,” Lyana said, dropping the arrow onto the stones beneath her feet “we’d better get started, haven’t we?”


	6. Points of Contact

Never once, even back when he’d been on the throne at barely ten as little more than a puppet for the disguised Black Dragon Onyxia, had Anduin ever seen the House of Nobles so vicious. Snipping and snarling at him and at each other. Demanding the war end. Demanding the war continue. Demanding the war be monetized. Resources and manpower should be directed towards the wound instead; turned attention away from healing their dying planet and instead towards weaponizing the new resource that was Azerite. Demanding that Stormwind pull its own forces back to reinforce itself and force more of their allies to the fore: that the brunt of the war’s damage be taken by their inhuman allies in the effort to rebuff the barbaric Horde. What Anduin knew to be the very same racism which had marked the death of the Alliance of Lordaeron.  Knew, now, would mean the death of so much more. When he’d spoken against them, overruled them-if more narrowly than he’d prefer-they’d turned on him. Suggesting he held sympathy for the enemy, and that Nathanos’ presence in the city was proof enough of that.

Thankfully all of the years which Anduin had spent observing the path of Discipline had left him with the patience necessary to hold onto his temper.

Barely.

Needless to say, the young King was more than relieved when the matter ended and he was able to retreat without losing face.

It had been a long time since he’d last turned to such a method for relieving stress, in large part due to the close connection of the activity to his father and the still tender feelings surrounding his loss, yet without much thought on that day Anduin’s feet had carried him down to the armory used by the Royal Guard and he soon found himself crossing the green with an old bow in hand.

Halfway through his journey to the row of targets erected along the eastern border of the training green Anduin stopped. Overwhelmed by memories from his early childhood. He’d been more timid, back then, and small for his age-though in honesty that last part at least hadn’t changed much-with Bolvar and a vicious dragon as his only real company. His father, still deeply wounded by grief over his mother’s death, had suffered from a deep depression at that time and Anduin hadn’t seen much of him. Their only real point of contact, of bonding, had been during the archery lessons the King had seemed at times driven to give him.

The bow he’d used had been much like the one he was currently holding. Light, for all he knew it could have been that bow exactly! Same standard issue crocolisk leather binding on the grip. Same sinew string. Same worn, ash wood body. He could remember, clear as day, the sensation of the wood beneath his fingers on that day. The cold, smooth roughness; an odd sensation which was unique, it seemed, to such material. Anduin ran gloved fingers along the curve of one of the bow’s arching arms, following its gentle shape with his eyes. Trying, and failing, to ground himself further in that sun worn memory.

“What are you staring at it for, you pin head? You have to pull the string to make it fire!” Nathanos’ gravely voice sounded from not far behind him and Anduin nearly leapt out of his boots. The Dark Ranger Lord stood at just far enough a distance to seem natural to a passer by while still being close enough to light him aflame-though, to be fair, he probably could have incited the same reaction while on the opposite side of Azeroth if Anduin had somehow been able to see him-holding Boots in the crook of one arm and glaring with his glowing eyes. “Explain to me why you’re out here fondling that poor defenseless bow in broad daylight!”

“Fondling?” Anduin spluttered. “I’ll have you know, Blightcaller, that _I_ am gentleman enough to at least buy it dinner first.” He turned his back on the other man and proceeded the rest of the way across the green, hyper aware of the gentle clink of chain mail which signaled Nathanos’ pursuit.

“So that was all I had to do to get a different answer?”

“I don’t appreciate being propositioned like a whore.”

A gruff acknowledgement. “I’m not going to apologize.”

“You didn’t strike me as the type of man to ask either for forgiveness or permission. You just _do_ things, though admittedly usually at another’s behest.” Shrugging the quiver on his back into a more comfortable position, he pulled down an arrow and knocked it on the string. “You’re not going to apologize and you’re not going to stop.”

The grass hissed underfoot as the other man moved. “Nor will you apologize for or cease to eat me with your eyes every time I cross your path. So, to that, my Liege, I can only say touché.”

Anduin felt his face heat up and shook his head, refusing to turn around to look at him. “This is revenge for my avoiding you the last three days, isn’t it?”

“King Wrynn,” again with the low rumble of laughter. “I only let you _think_ you were avoiding me.”

Light damn it! Anduin knew, from what he’d already seen, that Nathanos had the capability to stalk him without being noticed. Easily. Was he bluffing? He couldn’t tell.

All ability to focus on the matter fled when a large hand found the small of his back. Applying just enough pressure to make its presence firmly known. When he spoke again it was directly in his ear. “Show me what you can do.”

Anduin lost his grip on the string as well as all capacity for aim, the arrow sailing cockeyed in a random direction. Heat was beginning to hum through his blood and Anduin struggled to keep it from finding its way somewhere far more troublesome. “Light damn it!”

Nathanos’ quiet hum juttered through him like an earthquake. Cold breath on his neck as taloned fingers began to apply a light pressure to his spine. “Now now,” he said, “don’t let me distract you.”

This time, though the arrow was still shaky in its flight, he managed to hit the target. “Better, but still poor.” He said. “Try again.”

His third shot hit the main body of the target but was still nowhere near the center.

The hand on his back was at last removed, relief and disappointment alike burning through him. Nathanos pulled the heavy bow he carried with him down from his shoulder and knocked an arrow on the string. He fired. Hit the bullseye dead center. Fired again. Split the arrow. Fired again and split the second one. Anduin stared, wide eyed; blown away by the deceptive ease with which he’d managed such a thing.

“Who taught you?”

Anduin blinked and pulled his eyes away from the target. “What?”

“To use a bow. Who taught you?” there was a snap of impatience in his voice now thought he appeared to be making an effort to reign it in. “It’s obvious that someone did. You show a grasp of basics, if profoundly simple ones.”

Anduin turned his eyes to the grass at their feet, watching the wind tug gently on the emerald blades. “My father.” He said. “It was the main means of bonding that we really had when I was young. It fell markedly by the wayside when I aged, when our relationship became strained, and after he died…I haven’t touched it since.”

“Until today.”

He shrugged. “The nobles were particularly vicious.”

“I’m well aware. I heard every word of it. If Ridgewell had not restrained himself at the last moment from becoming even minutely physical he’d have discovered just how good a shot I am firsthand.” So, he _had_ really been sneaking around after him while Anduin had thought he was alone. “That you were taught by a Warrior explains a lot. Your technique is rough, uncouth, and entirely without finesse. Could you hunt like this? For pleasure, perhaps. But a bow wouldn’t be of much use to you as a survival tool, or on the field of battle.”

The King huffed. “Another weapon I’m ‘improficient with’.” He grumbled. “I’m not cut from the same cloth as my father. Not meant for the battle field. Not an asset on the front lines, but rather a detriment. I’ve heard it all before, Nathanos, I don’t need you to tell me too.”

“But you could be, with enough effort. Enough time. Only a fool would handicap themselves in such a way as to conflate an unwillingness to work at learning something with an inability to do so.”

“I’ve worked at the sword for years!”

“Through obligation or desire?” Anduin, once again, looked away. “Fighting your lessons will gain you nothing but further difficulty. And if you’ve never been told this before your tutors on such subjects need to be replaced.”

“And you offer yourself in their place, Blightcaller?”

“Private lessons? And here I thought you were trying to avoid me.”

“And failing. So, let us drop the pretense.”

A brief, cruel smile. “Indeed.” Pointedly, every word laced with potent suggestion, low and right in his ear Nathanos said “spread your legs.”

“ ** _What_** _?!”_ he squawked, loudly enough to briefly draw the notice of one of the nearer men out training. Anduin quickly waved them away.

The innocent confusion, clearly false, which the other man embedded in his expression made him go red. “A bit beyond shoulder width: your posture needs polishing in this sector. And drop your center of gravity more, at the moment it looks as simply holding up that bow could topple you forward.”

Nathanos didn’t give him the chance to do so before, apparently, becoming impatient enough to take things into his own hands. Placing said hands on his waist, taloned fingers curling firmly around the wings of his hips. Thumbs working small circles into the soft flesh at his sides, pretending to manipulate his stance for the benefit of onlookers but not really changing anything at all.

“Much better.” Anduin could feel the larger man’s voice rumble through his body from where his chest pressed into his back. “Now, show me again how you aim.”

The young King cleared his throat and pulled away, Nathanos releasing him somewhat reluctantly. “I think it’s best that we continue this in a more private setting. Besides,” it never failed to amaze him how quickly the Blightcaller could take to glaring whenever the puppy was involved; it was no different now as Anduin lifted the little hound into his arms. “Hello, Bootsy.” The Plaguehound whined and squirmed until it managed to turn around enough to lick his face. “There’s a bench just over here, if you’d accompany me?”

A disinterested grunt, but never the less Nathanos followed on his heels though he didn’t sit beside him. Anduin set the puppy on his lap and drew on the Light within him, meeting some struggle in trying to ignore Boot’s concerted efforts to pull off his gloves. Once he’d finished, he set the little hound softly on the grass and watched it toddle a few unsteady steps before sitting down and starting to eat dirt.

Nathanos swiftly scooped it up.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Anduin said, “if you’d be willing to devote your unique skills to fulfilling a service to Stormwind which I believe no one else is quite properly qualified for.”

The Dark Ranger Lord regarded him dubiously. “I am bound by my oath to do as you ask of me, provided it falls within the agreed upon conventions.” He said, sounding rather tart. “How reluctantly I do it depends on what it is.”

“You were the Ranger Lord of Quel’thalas in life, and the Dark Ranger Lord in death before you left the Horde. Your skill is near unparalleled, _is_ unparalleled among Humans I wouldn’t doubt, and I’d be willing to bet you’ve at least some experience with training others.”

“You want me to resume doing so, with your men.” Nathanos sounded so utterly resigned that Anduin had to stifle a laugh.

“The Horde has both the Farstriders and the Dark Rangers at their disposal. We have the Sentinels, that’s true, but they’re not quite the same and as for the Silver Covenant…Vareesa’s people are few in number.” He said. “The Alliance could only benefit from even a small number of more highly trained bows. And though I don’t doubt Foxworthy’s skill, the unique knowledge you hold could well be the difference between winning this war and losing it.”

“You’re aware, King Wrynn, that I’d be teaching by everything but example? At least where Ranger magic is concerned.”

The Priest cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

“Undeath is inherently unnatural, and being shackled to it robbed us all of our Nature magic. Teaching by example in that regard would require me to teach them Necromancy. And I doubt any in the Alliance, including you, would be particularly pleased with that.”

“No, I doubt they would be. And, though I’d prefer Necromancy not be practiced full stop…I’d prefer there be no Warlocks either, yet quite a few of them are Grand Champions of our Faction and even stood with us against the Legion. It’s not our powers that make us who we are but what we choose to do with them.” He looked over at Nathanos with a smirk. “Does that mean you’ll do it?”

The Forsaken could always do with a few more Dark Rangers, and the best of them came from Rangers in life. Given his position, he could always make it a point to get the lot of his soon to be students killed prior to his exit from this maddening farce. “If such a thing is what my King commands, then his will be done.” He said. “I’m sure I can find a way to fit them in between our ‘private lessons’.”

There was something inexplicably gratifying about forcing Anduin to periodically invent new shades of red. The Dark Ranger Lord’s keen eyes followed the curve of the King’s back as he rose off the bench where they were sitting, rosy down his neck. The ivory column one which he could easily imagine sinking his teeth into. Bruising. Drawing blood. Ripping flesh.

That was an urge he hadn’t felt so strongly seize him since before he’d been freed from Arthas’ grip. Disturbed, Nathanos removed his attention from Anduin entirely. There was something heady and addictive in courting that mindless impulse, that feral darkness born in the fractures rent deep within his soul, serving as the anchors of the chains of undeath, which felt sharper, clearer, than anything in years.  Yet even with no threat of the Lich King on the other side to drag him back into the hive mind of the Scourge should he slip off that high wire into the jaws of the beast, flirting with something so base would no doubt still bring about some form of disaster.

Killing Wrynn was the end goal, that was true, but gnawing the youth to the bone was better left avoided for both their sakes.

Anduin seemed to have noticed his change in demeanor, brows drawn together into something approaching concern. From that angle, the slant of sunlight made his eyes appear more grey than blue. Summer blonde hair spilled down his back in a neat tail.

The wooden bench creaked beneath his grip.

Thankfully the King didn’t make mention of the older man’s sudden shift in demeanor, straightening his back and clearing his throat slightly. “If you’ll excuse me, Nathanos, I’m now required to bury myself alive in paperwork.”

Receiving no response, Anduin left the other man sitting on the bench on the green and made his way back up to his chambers. Settling down behind the desk in his study and pulling out a small stack of white paper. Dipping a feather quill into the inkwell and clearing off the excess ink, Anduin penned out two brief letters. The first to Foxworthy and the second to the Royal Tailor, Charity Luxford.

“You never struck me as one prone to collecting clothing, little brother.” Valeera vaulted over the windowsill of his study, grinning. “Not to mention that those sizes seem a little large.”

“They’re not for me. And, though I’m admittedly guessing at the precise sizes, I’d imagine that Nathanos-standing about a head and a half taller than me and with much wider shoulders-wouldn’t wear the same things I would.”

“Because one can’t wear armor at all hours, not that that ever stopped your father.”

Anduin felt a pang of well-worn sorrow shoot through him as he set his quill aside. “He lived and died a hero of the Alliance, and yet came back to us with almost nothing.” He said. “When I told him that I wished for him to be comfortable here I meant it, but if I attempt too much at once I suspect the reaction to be rather violent. Clothes I’m sure I can get away with, at least for the most part.”

“And the other letter is laissez-faire for Foxworthy to cry havoc and release the baby hunters of war?”

“I’m sure that at some point in his career Nathanos had dealt with a worse batch of students.” Anduin said. “Might I ask why you came in through my window when the door was unlocked, ‘Leera?”

Valeera raised an eyebrow. “I needed a reason?” Both snickered. “Honestly, I was outside and didn’t feel like walking all the way through the Keep to alert you to the fact that King Greymane is planning to pop in on you tomorrow but I figured you’d appreciate the heads up so here I am. We probably want to keep him and the Blightcaller apart, considering we don’t have a Stonemason’s Guild to rebuild the city anymore.”

“I’m sure Nathanos is about as eager to be in Genn’s company as we are to lock them in a closet together in full battle gear.” Propping his elbows on the desk Anduin massaged his temples, feeling the echoes of his earlier migraine beginning to return. “Do you know what time he plans to come? I was hoping to introduce the Blightcaller to his students tomorrow morning but will reschedule if need be. I’ve yet to send the letter so it’ll be simply done.”

“Around midday, so I’ve heard.”

“Not ideal, but workable.” He said, capping the inkwell and creasing the dried letters. Stamping the seal of House Wrynn into the tacky blue wax. “Can I push at least a portion of this mountain of documents off onto the House of Nobles? Maybe having a bit more to do will shut them up.”

“I’m sure you could but I wouldn’t recommend it. They meddle with enough as it is.” Valeera set the glass of scotch she’d poured beside his hand, gaining a quiet word of thanks. “Would you like me to take these where they need to go?”

“I’d appreciate it, thank you.”

“Of course.” Picking up both letters Valeera turned towards the door before stopping halfway there and turning back. “I know it’s only a quarter to dark fall, but promise me you’ll eat tonight. And try to sleep.”

Anduin raised his head, the lighting turning his blue eyes pale and with a smudge of ink at one corner of his mouth from where he’d bitten the end of his quill. “I’ll try.”

“That’s all I can ask.” Tucking the letters into her pack, Valeera allowed the door to swing firmly shut behind her.


	7. Question of Motivation

Anduin hadn’t ever gotten around to that sleep he’d promised Valeera, and as he stood out front of the Keep behind the towering form of his father’s statue in the early morning cold the young King hoped that the dark circles under his eyes weren’t overly noticeable. The sky was grey and cloudy, the air tinged with the promise of rain, and the sluggish sounds of ramping day filtered to him over the colored rooftops of the stirring city.

Nathanos had yet to be properly informed as to why they were out there and at this hour, though there was an appreciative tint to his sanguine gaze not normally present. The Priest could only assume this had to do with the-admittedly tight-riding clothes he’d replaced his usual ensemble with.

“King Wrynn.” There was a purring note to his gravely voice as he stepped forward, those red eyes set on his legs. Hyper aware of the way his leathers clung to his thighs and overstated his ass. Anduin had to will his face not to turn scarlet. “Are you normally up at these hours, standing out in front of the keep in the cold…dressed entirely in leather?”

Nathanos had already admitted a tendency to and demonstrated a capacity for remaining in his company whilst Anduin was unaware, so the young King had little doubt that the Dark Ranger Lord was already well aware he was usually still in bed, or more likely passed out at his desk, at this hour. And that he most certainly didn’t make a habit of parading about in skin tight hide. “If that was meant to be a pickup line, Blightcaller, you missed.”

The auburn man huffed, stepping forward. Only one step, but how deliberate the action was still flooded him with the desire to quail. One which Anduin swiftly quashed. “I’ve never been known for social aptitude. Yet you seem perfectly enamored despite the fact that I’m far too rough, far too common, to ever find a place in a noble’s court.”

“Who told you that?” Nathanos’ only response was a scoff. “Never mind it then, I suppose. You recall, I’m sure, what we spoke about yesterday?”

“I’ve a superior attention span to the common Murloc, yes.”

“I alerted Foxworthy to your agreement and arranged for him to collect his best seven apprentices at Northshire Abbey this morning so that you can meet, and measure, your new students.”

“Thrilling.” He drawled. “Determining that the collective IQ of a gathering of idiots fails to enter the double digits is exactly how I want to spend my day.”

“Only your morning, Nathanos.” He said. “I have to return to the Keep before midday in order to meet with Genn.”

“Greymane?” the Blightcaller spat. “Oh, this just keeps getting better. Will the mutt be on the loose, and if so for how long?”

“I thought I’ve asked you to be civil.”

“To his face.” He snapped. “And I never agreed to it.”

The young King sighed and shook his head. “Light.” He muttered, then said “I doubt he’ll be here for long or that he’ll leave the Keep for anywhere but the Mage Tower. He’s been spending a great deal of time in Boralus of late.”

“You sound as if you miss him.” His tone was sour.

“In the time I’ve known Genn he’s come to be something of a grandfather to me. Now that father is gone, he Jaina and Valeera are the closest things to family I have left.”

“Family?” Nathanos scoffed. “You don’t need ‘family’, certainly not one cobbled together out of a mad sorceress a drooling cur and a Blood Elf! Companionship? Advisory? Defense? You have me, now, to fill those roles.”

“Was that what you were to Sylvanas?” a growl was his only answer. Anduin shook his head. “It’s all well and good for you to offer such…overwhelming support while you’re here. But if I were to take you up on it, where would I be left when you leave as you’ve admitted you intend to?”

“Given enough reason,” he’d closed the distance between them now, towering over him, red eyes blazing, “perhaps I’d decide to remain. If I can tolerate the Alliance for long enough to see this war through, I’m sure I can manage to draw that tolerance out until you die. Naturally or otherwise.”

A chill ran down his spine which had nothing to do with the early hour but Anduin refused to back down. Tilting his chin in defiance. “Has anyone ever told you, Nathanos, that you’re incredibly possessive?”

The Dark Ranger Lord took his chin in one of his large hands, mail gloves chilled by the surrounding temperature and talons pressing lightly into the curve of his jaw. A thin smile, barely there, tugging at his pale lips. “It doesn’t seem to turn you off, my Liege. Almost as if possession, control, is something that you find attractive.” The talon on his thumb followed the path taken by the large vein running down the side of his neck and Anduin tried and failed to keep his breath from hitching. “One could hardly blame you, being the High King, with all the pressure of having final word on nearly everything, for simply wanting an excuse to…submit.”

It had started as teasing, an effort to make him squirm-a sport which Nathanos seemed to revel in with a near venomous fervor, seizing on chances whenever they presented themselves-yet the Blightcaller had caught himself up in it as well, an unintentionally revealed something he doubtlessly hadn’t wanted Anduin aware of.

Being constantly in a position of control, of expectation that he would always make the right decision, always know what to do, Anduin had indeed developed just such the desire the Hunter before him had so easily honed in on. But the opposite was true as well, constantly being expected to submit, to obey, to serve without question could breed such a desire for possession. Control.

Sylvanas didn’t strike Anduin as the sort to ever surrender a modicum of power, no matter the situation. As such, Nathanos’ frustration was nothing sort of understandable.

The Shadow in him hissed to sink his teeth into the weakness which the other man had bared. The Light in him balked at the thought of leveraging another's vulnerability in such an unsavory way. His morals turned bright red and reason warned that if he stepped into such an arena his emotions would be used against him as a weapon. The Blightcaller would quite literally eat his heart out.

He heard Valeera’s voice in his head, then, and forced his focus back onto the moment. Pushing aside such a decision to be wrestled with later when his head was left clearer than it could ever be with Nathanos stood in front of him. Anduin stepped away and out of reach, the larger man allowing it only reluctantly.

“We’re expected at Northshire Abbey, just outside of Goldshire. A town approximately ten minutes ride down the road from Stormwind’s Gates. If we leave immediately, we’ll arrive at the Abbey just in time.”

“Just in time for what? The circus?”

“To avoid being late.” Anduin started down the steps. “If you’d follow me to the royal stables.”

The gentle ring of mail was assurance enough that the young King didn’t feel the need to check over his shoulder and determine whether or not the Dark Ranger Lord was following him.

The interior of the Royal Stables was a few degrees warmer than the outside air, smelling of sweet hay and horses. A stable hand who’d been brushing one of the horses, a painted mare with a star mark on her forehead, caught sight of Nathanos and quickly made himself scarce. Neither of them mentioned the matter and Anduin stopped outside of Reverence’s stall, the Palomino sticking his head over the door in search of scratches.

“I know that you brought a riding bat with you but I feel the journey to the Abbey isn’t far enough to justify flying. Not to mention the weather today is fair. I thought we might enjoy the chance for travel.” Anduin said. “Let’s find you a horse.”

Nathanos treated him to a glare, though it was quickly turned elsewhere when a black stallion poked his head from the stall behind him and yanked on the back of his cloak. “Release me, you beast!” Tugging himself free and retreating out of reach, the Dark Ranger made a rude gesture in the horse’s direction when it snorted at him in what sounded like amusement.

“Champion!” The horse shook out its mane and snorted again. “I’m sorry, Nathanos. If you ask me, father’s war horse was never quite broken properly.”

“Most horses are frightened of the Forsaken. Living ones, at least.” He edged a bit closer to the war horse, then again once it became clear another attempt to eat his clothing wouldn’t be made. “I think our choices are ‘incorrectly broken’, as you’ve called it, or an animal so terrified it’s impossible to ride.”

The young King looked unsure, brows drawing together over blue eyes, but didn’t disagree. “Champion hasn’t been ridden in…years. No one else would dare to. And I think he’s suffered because of it.” He said. “If you wish to try your hand at riding him, I won’t stop you. I, personally, prefer less ill-tempered mounts.”

Nathanos raised an eyebrow. “Your interest in me suggests otherwise.”

“The saddles are over here!” Between the high nicker and that now familiar rumble Anduin was well aware that both Nathanos and Champion were laughing at him. Pulling a saddle down from one of the pegs on the wall the Priest all but pushed it into the other man’s arms. “I’m sure you’re able to put it on yourself.”

“I ride bareback.”

“I’ve _seen_ skeletal horses, Blightcaller! No, you don’t!” Face aflame, Anduin took Reverence by the reigns and began leading the horse out of the stables. “Join me outside once you’ve finished.”

With the blonde vanished around the corner of the doorway Nathanos opened the door of the stall which housed the black warhorse. The beast was massive for a horse, just as its once rider had been massive for a man, its pelt shaggy and coarse compared to the sleek silky coat of the gilded mount the young King had taken with him. Its eyes were large and brown and feral, sizing him up at he approached. Keeping well to its side to keep from being kicked and side-stepping concerted efforts to step on his feet and break the delicate bones in his boots. With the saddle secured Nathanos moved on to the bridle only to have the horse snap at his fingers. Gaining a firm grip on its mane and giving a firm yank, baring his teeth and glaring, he forced the beast to look away.

He wasn’t given any further trouble.

Anduin was already astride Reverence when he found him, comfortable in the saddle by his posture and holding the reigns in one hand. There was a measure of ill hidden shock on his face as he watched Nathanos easily swing himself up onto the horse’s back.

“Sometimes an iron fist has its uses.” He said. “Allowing something to walk all over you won’t gain its respect. Now, I believe we’ve a meeting to attend?”

“We do indeed.” Pulling gently on the reigns to turn his horse around, Anduin prodded Reverence forward towards the city streets. “Follow me, if you would.”

Stormwind’s streets had only just begun to fill with the earliest of inhabitants, consisting largely of shop keeps and stall merchants and the clan of fishermen who seemed an almost permanent fixture on the city’s docks. Very few of them looked up, even fewer looked at Nathanos. The hooded cloak that he wore protected him from notice by the few who did. Even still Anduin saw the other man pull the cowl tighter around his face as if uncomfortable with the scrutiny.

In the wake of the Horde’s invasion to free the Zandalari’s Princess and the Dark Prophet being held there he’d ordered the city’s security be increased. Anduin knew that it was a necessary step to keep his people safe, but it broke his heart to see a small cadre of fully armed Knights posted outside the City Gates. The nearest two turned their helmeted heads as they passed and nodded in Anduin’s direction through the majority simply remained staring straight ahead. None of them acknowledged his company, and Anduin found himself with the sneaking suspicion that Nathanos preferred things that way.

“You don’t have to hide your face like some fugitive.” Anduin said, the hooves of their horses clattering against the uneven cobbles which lined the forest road. “You’re a member of the Alliance now, officially. Under my protection. And you’ve as much a right to be here as anyone else.”

The depth of the cowl hid his glowing eyes but never the less the young King knew that he was glaring at him. “If you believe, truly, that things are that simple than you’re more a fool than even I believed.” He said. “The Alliance does not look kindly on the Undead. Your father’s refusal to accept us back when the Banshee Queen first freed us and petitioned his aid shows as much clearly. And no amount of arranged meetings between us and living family members who regard us only as monsters now will change that. Nor will the word of the teenaged idiot who just so happens to be wearing a crown on his head! There is unhappiness with your decision, mark my words, and though time and again I’ve reveled in such reactions to my presence at the moment I’m not in the mood!”

“’Family members who regard us only as monsters now’?” Anduin repeated. “That sounds like it’s coming from a place of experience.”

Silence.

“I’m sorry.”

“Shut up, Wrynn!” Nathanos snarled.

An air of displeasure fizzled between them after that, lessening but not dissipating as they passed through the Abbey’s Gates.

Benjamin Foxworthy, accompanied by his pet fox Sly, had-true to his word-assembled his top seven students and now stood waiting for them outside the Abbey’s doors. Five men and two women, all around the age of twenty, accompanied by a range of pets including wolves boars and a buzzard which the Blightcaller immediately turned ferocious eyes on.

Dismounting, the pair approached where the Hunter trainer stood.

“King Anduin.” He said. “…Dark Ranger Lord Marris.” Nathanos snarled like a rabid dog and Foxworthy went sheet white. “Blightcaller, I apologize!”

Anduin sighed. “Thank you, Benjamin. I know that this was a bit on short notice so I appreciate your efforts for getting this together.”

“Of course, King Wrynn.” Benjamin said. “Having Rangers at our disposal would only be a benefit to Stormwind’s military, however I must admit that I’m…somewhat reluctant to turn over my students to, well…a man not particularly renown for his tolerance.”

“The worst I’ll do is tie the stupid ones to a post and have the others use them for target practice.” Nathanos drawled. “Don’t worry, I’m sure they’ll all get a turn.”

Both of the other men stared at him in disbelief before quickly coming to the realization that he wasn’t joking. “I’m going to have to ask you not to do that!” Anduin said. “I’m sure it was an acceptable punishment among the Forsaken but you’ll end up killing someone.”

“I never suggested the use of live ammunition.”

“Even still!”

Nathanos huffed and began walking away. “Show me the idiots.”

Anduin exchanged raised eyebrows with Foxworthy before the Hunter trainer started towards his waiting students as well. “Nolan Buckley, from Darkshire. Lost his family in the madness with the Veiled Hand during the Legion’s invasion and threw himself into his training afterwards. A better survivalist than shot, he has a particular way with animals. I’ve never seen anyone who could make a Ravager look like a Pomeranian.” A horse sized black wolf was sprawled out at the feet of a morose looking young man with pale hair. A jagged polearm was strapped to his back in place of a bow or crossbow. “Kieran and Jocelyn Stonebridge are siblings from Redridge. Fair shots, both, with potential for improvement given the right path.” A young man and woman with clear family resemblance between them, reddish hair and green eyes. A gun and crossbow, respectively, were strapped across their backs. “Corvin Presley is from Westfall. Was worried he was one of those Defias thugs for a while but that turned out to be unfounded. He’ll give you no problems.” Thin and reedy with a gaunt, stubbled face Corvin was the only one of the lot carrying a bow. “Isabelle Wither from just down the road in Goldshire. Incredible tracking skills. Poor use of them, often times. More than once I’ve caught her stalking your guards. You may want to mind yourself around her. If his Majesty will excuse my vulgar language, she’s one of the ones that go for anything with a pulse.”

“If that’s the case I think I’m safe.” Nathanos drawled. “I haven’t had one of those in years.”

Benjamin stared at him for a drawn-out moment before gathering himself enough to continue. “Lastly, we have twin brothers Isiah and Leopold Graeme. They’re from Goldshire as well, though their family originally hails from Andorhal. Jokers, both of them, though they’re exceptionally skilled when they can be bothered to put their heads on straight.”

“They’d best be mindful I don’t _screw_ them on.” Nathanos turned to the seven gathered students and demanded “which one of you belongs to **_that_** ” pointing at the buzzard.

“Me, Sir.” Corvin dared to edge slightly forward out of line. “That is to say, Adler is my pet.”

“Not for long.” Nathanos snapped. “Get rid of it for a proper companion before our first collective lesson or I will make you _eat_ it! Feathers and all! Am I clear?”

Wide eyed, the young man nodded.

“Good.” Gruffly, he returned his attention to the others. “As for the rest of you dipsticks, come with bows and nothing else. The bow is the Ranger’s weapon and if you’re to be Rangers than it’s the weapon you will use, without exception. I am neither a kind man nor a patient teacher and as such I expect that you will all arrive early work hard and do as you are told. Anything otherwise will _not_ be tolerated. Is that clear?”

A chorus of “yes, Blightcaller,” went up through the line.

Nathanos turned his back in clear dismissal. “I’m done here, Wrynn. And there’s not much time left before the Wolf King arrives so it’s likely best that you be returning to your court as well.”

Looking up into the clouded sky to see the slant of the sunlight had changed, signaling the close approach of noon, Anduin sighed and nodded. “You’re right. If I’m not there to meet Genn when he arrives, he’s sure to come looking and I’d really rather delay what’s sure to happen when the two of you inevitably cross paths for as long as possible.”

“I still think he’d be of greater benefit to you as a pelt rug.”

“Don’t start, Nathanos. Please.”

“At the very least allow me to craft him a custom muzzle. In my experience they’re quite able in curbing biting behaviors.”

Anduin just shook his head and pulled himself up into Reverence’s saddle.

The ride back to the Keep was made in somehow greater silence than the one out to the abbey had, Nathanos vanishing up in smoke the moment the door of Champion’s stall had been firmly shut behind him. The speed and ease with which the other man could disappear would never cease to amaze him, the young King didn’t doubt, even considering he should be used to such things by now considering all the time that he spent with Valeera.

Freeing Reverence from the bridle and saddle and hanging both back in their proper places Anduin paused for long enough to pat his horse’s neck before heading up to the Royal Chambers in order to exchange his riding leathers for court clothes.

Opening the door, he walked face first into the wide chest of the Gilnean King and almost toppled backwards in surprise. The older man’s arms were the only thing which kept him from toppling. “Genn!”

“Anduin.” He was summarily propped up and released by the aged warrior, his eyes tinting feral gold. “Are you alright? You smell like horses and death. Were you out riding?”

“Yes.” Remembering, in that incredibly inconvenient moment, how Nathanos had drawn so close to him that morning that their chests had almost touched.

“Were you with _it_?”

“With _him_ , yes.” Stepping around the other, Anduin headed for the dresser. “I’ve spoken with him already on this matter so now I’ll speak to you. I understand that there are feelings between you and the Dark Lady on both sides which neither of you are keen to forgive, and that because of what happened in Gilneas there will never be a friendship of any sort between the two of you I don’t think asking for civility is unreasonable.”

Genn grunted, folding his arms. Anduin was struck, then, by the realization that he and Nathanos at times could be very much alike.

“I’d thought to meet you in the throne room.”

“This wasn’t a formal call.”

“So that’s your excuse.” Anduin pulled a clean set of clothing from the drawer.

“My excuse?” Genn repeated.

“For trying to corner him.” The young King straightened up. “Let me tell you from experience if he doesn’t want to be seen he won’t be.” The other man’s growl sounded dangerously similar to his Worgen form. “Excuse me for a moment while I change.”

By the time he returned Genn had wandered into the center of the room and now stood rather stiffly with his arms folded behind his back, watching him with a pinched expression. “How often has that rotting th- _he_ ” the older King swiftly corrected in response to the blonde’s reprimanding look, “been in here? This room stinks.”

That was actually a good question, the answer to which Anduin could only guess. Though at the moment his thoughts had taken a rather unfortunate turn to what it was, precisely, Genn was smelling. The one time they’d been close enough to answer that query he’d been too shocked, too distracted, to concentrate on such a thing. Too taken by the dark tones of his voice. The patterning of black and red which spiraled in his eyes. “I don’t know what he smells like!”

Realizing what he’d just blurted out, and precisely how suspicious it sounded, Anduin turned pink. Genn looked at him sideways.

“I mean,” he hastily amended, “that I’ve never noticed. But my nose, I’d hazard a guess, is considerably weaker than yours. If it’s really that bad, we can step out onto the balcony?”

“Please.”

Flipping the golden latch and pushing open the folding doors Anduin led the way out onto the balcony of the Royal Chambers. Bracing his hands against the sturdy railing and looking towards the docks. A faint rain had begun to fall, draping the city in curtains of grey. The damp, sea tinged wind transforming the harbor into a sea of rippling blue and gold.

The fact that every flag he saw there was in fact wrapped around a body sent a stab of pain through his chest. He’d tried to reach out to Sylvanas and build a lasting peace. He’d failed. And because of that his people were dying. And so was their world.

“That’s the last of the soldiers.” Genn said gruffly. “They’ll be sending farmers next.”

Anduin flinched, his shoulders curling inwards. “I thought we were fighting for peace.” He said, turning away. “But we’re just fighting. We’re _always_ just fighting. And I’m beginning to fear it’s never going to stop.”

Genn reached out to comfort him, hand resting heavy on his shoulder. Floundering for a moment at an attempt to say something comforting before giving up and simply saying “you’re doing all you can” and changing the subject. “Come to Kul Tiras.” He said. “Jaina would love to see you again but isn’t able to pull herself away from goings on there. Kul Tiras has begun the necessary steps of rejoining the Alliance and Boralus is beautiful. Not to mention that there’s someone I want you to meet.”

The young King turned his head, confusion on his face.

“Her name is Taelia.”

Anduin sighed. “Genn, please.”

“Don’t ‘Genn please’ me.” The older King said firmly. “All due respect, my Lord, but you’re High King now and the last of your line. As things stand, the House of Wrynn has no future. It’s time you took a queen and had an heir, if not more than one.”

An image of Nathanos flashed unbidden before his eyes. Thank the Light that, this time, he had a good excuse for coloring the way he did. “And here, all these years, I thought you’d suggest Tess for that role when the time came.”

“It would have been my first choice, had I not had reason to question, though not enough to really wish an answer on my conscience, the true nature of her relationship with Lorna Crowley.” Genn said. “You deserve someone who is able to give themselves to you whole heartedly, in the same manner I know you’ll give yourself to them.”

Oh, Genn, if only you knew.

“Taelia is warm, in the same way you are, and there’s a point of connection between you which I’m certain you’d find to be of interest. Though I’m not going to spoil the surprise.” He said. “At least consider it?”

Anduin sighed and hung his head, ignoring the urge to wipe away the trickle of rain cutting its way across his cheek. “I’ll consider it.” He said. “Was that all?”

“For the moment.”

“You’re going back to Boralus?”

The older King nodded. “There’s much to take care of.”

“And something you’re not telling me.”

Genn gazed at him for a long moment, then it was his turn to sigh. “Tyrande and the Night Elves have done too much for my people for me to have turned away her request for help. She’ll no doubt come to Stormwind for aid within the next few hours. Or days.”

“For aid?”

“With retaking Darkshore.” Anduin allowed a thin sigh to hiss through his nose, rubbing at his temples again. “I don’t mean to go against your word, or to hedge you into making a choice you’re not prepared to…”

“No.” Anduin cut him off. “No, I understand. No need to apologize. Stormwind will abstain, though my reasoning is one I’ll give to her when she comes to speak with me.”

“I understand.” Genn didn’t sound particularly pleased. As if he were trying to hold back passing judgement on his decision on account of lacking explanation. “I’ll take my leave, now.”

“Of course.” Even to his own ears he sounded distracted. “Of course.”

The young King remained on that rain swept balcony alone for a while longer, simply listening to the sound of the storm, before he returned to his study and sat down at his desk. Pursuing further progress in carving through his mountain of paperwork but meeting no success, spattering the heavy parchment with droplets of water from his drenched hair, smearing the ink in places. At last giving in to frustration and throwing down his quill, Anduin threw a dark cloak on over his royal clothing and exited the Keep via one of numerous servant’s passages. Pulling himself up through the floor of an old guard tower on the eastern side of the grounds a handful of minutes later and making his way to the stockades.

The efforts of the posted guards to prevent his entry came to quick end when they realized who he was, knowledge which he erased from their minds with Shadow magic once he’d gotten passed them. Alone in the dark, dank halls of the stockade Anduin made his way between the dirty cells filled with shouting occupants of all sorts with only a torch he’d taken from the wall to light his way. Shivering in his wet clothing beneath his cloak.

Turning at last off the main drag the Priest continued forward into the dark, and soon the only sounds were the echoing of his footsteps off the low-slung ceiling and the distant sounds of cell doors swinging shut. Finally reaching the cell at the far back of that out of the way hall, Anduin reached out one gloved hand to grip the bars and peered in. Squinting through the darkness in search of its occupant. Amazed by how easily something so massive could vanish into the gloom.

“At Lordaeron,” Anduin called into the blackness as he fumbled with a ring of keys, squinting in the lacking light, some part of him aware that announcing his presence and then stepping into the cage with a captive wolf he couldn’t see might not be a good idea, “you had the chance to end my life.” The key slid at last into its proper place, the heavy lock turning with a clunk which rolled down that crooked hall like thunder. Hinges shrieking as he pulled it open. “Maybe even end the war.” Stepping into the cell, Anduin reached back to pull the door firmly shut behind him. “Why didn’t you kill me?”

“Could kill you now.” The Orc was far closer to him than he’d expected, a massive hand fisting in the front of his shirt and yanking him off his feet. Breath huffing from his lungs as his back slammed against the uneven wall. “If there’s one thing that’s the same between the two of you, you and that insufferable witch who calls herself Banshee Queen, it’s hubris! I spared you once, but for all you know I’ve since changed my mind. Yet you come unguarded, unarmed and wearing nothing but a few paltry layers of cloth! I could snap your neck now and there’d be no one to save you!”

“That, Orc, is where you’re very wrong.” Anduin, eyes wide with fear he tried his best to stifle, craned his neck enough to peer over Saurfang’s massive shoulder. Nathanos’ figure was cut in black against the shadowed background, eyes aflame and drawn bow in hand. “Put. Him. Down. _Now!”_

“Blightcaller?”

“Nathanos!” The Priest scrabbled at the massive hand holding him in an effort to relieve his neck of some of the weight it was being forced to support. “Stand down!”

Whether it was the sudden appearance of the Dark Ranger Lord or the fact that Anduin’s only response to it was to issue orders that caused it, Saurfang’s grip went slack and it was only the fact that Nathanos lunged forward that prevented the King from crumpling to the ground.

Furious gaze set on the still shocked Orc, Nathanos yanked Anduin behind him in a manner which almost struck him as protective, back pedaling into a corner and then rounding on him. “Are you _insane_?”

“Many in your position would probably answer that question with an unquestionable ‘yes’.” Anduin said. “And I think they’d consider themselves possessed of more than enough evidence to prove it, between the two of you.”

“Wrynn.” Nathanos growled.

“I’ve never been afraid of risking my life for what I believed is right.”

“As much as I appreciate natural selection, need I remind you of the fact that you’re risking _my life_ too?” He snapped. “I don’t give a damn how often you chose to string along your guards or what method you leverage to do so but you will _not_ be doing the same with me.”

“I am the High King of the Alliance, need I remind you Nathanos? And yet you seek to order me?”

The Blightcaller grabbed his chin, grip much harsher this time than he’d done so earlier that morning. Anduin gasped in surprise. “Do _not_ play games with me, brat!”

“I will not tolerate this! You have left the Horde, Blightcaller, and pledged your allegiance to Stormwind’s banner and where I won’t demand that you kowtow to me to the degree which many within the Alliance might prefer you did I will not be manhandled nor spoken to in such a way. I’ve let things go thus far but even I haven’t the patience of a saint!”

Nathanos continued to glare at him for another drawn out moment, then released his grip and stepped back. “Finish with the Orc so I can return you to the Keep before you catch your death!” Ripping the rain scaled cloak that he wore from about his broad shoulders, the Blightcaller all but flung it into his face. “And dry yourself, you’re soaking wet!”

Untangling the length of cloth from where it had become partly wrapped around his face, resisting the urge to make use of it to answer to earlier question of precisely how Nathanos smelled, Anduin made a show of patting the excess moisture out of his hair. Leaving golden strands, darkened by moisture, plastered to his brow in disarray. “Thank you.”

“ _What_ is going on here?” Saurfang demanded. “You’re working with him?”

“I don’t discriminate against those who wish to be free of the Dark Lady’s tyranny. But Nathanos isn’t why we’re here, is it Overlord?” Having dried his hair to the best of his abilities but not sure what else to do with the cloak, Anduin did his best not to look awkward while he held it. “We’re here because of you. I spared you because I believed that you have honor. Was I wrong, I wonder? Can you stand by as more innocents are killed? While the Horde-.”

“That thing which follows Sylvanas Windrunner is _not_ the Horde I know! Not the Horde I’ve given everything for!” Made all the more massive and threatening by the way the shadows blurred the edges of his figure, Saurfang grabbed the narrow cot provided for prisoners in one hand and threw it at the wall. Wood splintering against stone. Nathanos hissed and backed further away and now Anduin found himself quite firmly wedged between the stone wall, the metal bars and the larger man’s powerful back. “Killed for it! Bled for it! How dare you suggest I want anything of the sort!”

“Back, **_away_** Saurfang!” Anduin grabbed Nathanos’ upper arm when he moved to raise his bow. Mail cloaked muscles like iron. His efforts at restraint amounted to nearly nothing.

Varok didn’t appear in any way threatened by the drawn arrow pointed at his chest, or maybe he was just too furious to care, because he kept coming. One massive hand slamming into the wall beside him, breaking the stone. Anduin was now sandwiched between the corner of the cell and Nathanos, who was likewise sandwiched between him and the Orc and didn’t appear happy about it judging by the low yowling noise he was making in the back of his throat.

“What I want,” Saurfang was plainly still addressing him but kept an unfriendly gaze on Nathanos, “is my Horde back.”

“Please tell me,” Anduin said softly, “why you spared my life.”

“Because,” at last the massive Orc withdrew, retreating across the cell again, a fact which the Blightcaller quickly took advantage of to pull away, freeing the Priest at last from the corner he’d been hemmed into, “I thought that you could stop her.”

Nathanos, almost softly enough that the young King failed to catch it, made a disbelieving noise. “I can’t.” Anduin turned away and pushed open the door of the cell. “Not alone.” Leaving the barred door hanging wide on its hinges, the young King walked away.

“Well,” the Dark Ranger Lord demanded when Saurfang didn’t immediately make a move to leave, “are you going to take your out or simply sulk down here until one of the Wardens come by to lock you up again?”

“What are you doing here?” the Saurfang wasn’t looking at him now the suspicion was still plain in his voice.

“Taking my fate into my own hands. Exercising, my free will in the ways the Forsaken tout belief in but no longer practice.” Returning the arrow he hadn’t quite gotten the chance to fire to the quiver on his back, Nathanos started towards the open door. “I suggest you do the same. Because the sheer levels of concentrated stupidity which Wrynn is capable of should be capable of causing fatal blood poisoning. And if you really believe that my being here alone will be enough to prod him in the right direction you’ve far too much faith in me.”

Footsteps echoing off the crooked walls, Nathanos followed Anduin out of the stockades.


	8. Making Demands

After his return to his chambers from the stockades, Anduin had once more settled down to continue his paperwork to discover that Charity had sent back a notice alerting him to the fact that his order had been filled and delivered. The young King knew he now had nothing left to do but sit back and wait for Nathanos to eventually return to his chambers and discover them. It took longer than he’d hoped, though not longer than expected, for that to occur and Anduin had managed to wash away the rain and the grime from the cell, change into more comfortable clothing, eat dinner, knock out everything he needed to do for the night and settle down beside the fire with a book and a drink before the disgruntled banging he’d been expecting at last descended on his door.

Marking the page that he was on as he sat up, he called “come in, Nathanos.”

The door flew open with far more force than necessary, thankfully not colliding with the wall behind it, allowing the other man to storm into the room with hunched posture and blazing eyes. Brandishing something in one fist like a weapon which Anduin couldn’t quite make out for all that it was being madly waved about. That was quickly remedied, however, when Nathanos shoved it into his face and demanded harshly “ _what_ is this?”

Going cross-eyed in order to properly look at the offending item, Anduin said “I fully admit to being sleep deprived, but that looks to me like a pair of pants.” Blue eyes blink innocently up at him. “Did you not wear those in Lordaeron?”

“ _Of course_ we wore pants, you dolt!” He snarled. “Why is there clothing in my room?”

“So you can wear it.” Anduin informed him matter of factly. “You’re an intelligent man, Blightcaller. I thought that you’d be able to figure out such a thing on your own.”

Nathanos snarled. “Don’t play games with me!”

“I’m not ‘playing games’, but you have to admit you did open yourself up to a bit of good-natured teasing. I hadn’t meant to offend.” At last setting the book aside, Anduin rose from the couch. “I meant what I said about wanting you to be comfortable. I thought I’d provide you the option to wear something different if you wished to. Do they fit?”

“Did you think I tried them on before I came here?” he snapped.

“It was a possibility.” Anduin said. “Let me know.”

“You’re going to need a better excuse if you want me out of this armor, Wrynn. And interesting you’d suggest such a thing when all I’m holding is a pair of pants.”

The immediate image of a shirtless Nathanos his mind so helpfully provided made Anduin’s face turn red once again. “What precisely are you suggesting I’m suggesting?”

“You’re fully aware.”

“You didn’t exactly treat me well earlier, Blightcaller. I’m not in the mood.”

“I’m not going to coddle you for acting a fool. Nor am I going to pretend to be anything short of what I am.” He drew to a stop in front of him, looking down on him with those lamp-like red eyes. “If you’re looking for someone ‘nice’, quash this and find another crush. A Paladin, perhaps. Allow me to suggest Wyrmbane, if you’re simply into older men. Choosing to dance with a devil isn’t going to end with a sudden return of his wings, no matter how much you may personally buy into your little redemption fantasies.”

“Is that how you see yourself?” Anduin asked, looking up at him across their head and a half height difference. “A devil?”

“If you’d be so kind,” Nathanos drawled, stepping away, “I’d appreciate the return of my cloak.”

Anduin sighed, crossing the room to the peg he’d hung the cloak on and pulled it down. Gripping the heavy fabric for a moment between his hands before turning to the other man and handing it back. Securing the latch at his throat, Nathanos exited the room without another word allowing the heavy door to swing shut in his wake.

Behind him, the fire popped. Scattering ashes onto the hearthstones in front of it. Anduin sighed and picked up his drink.

“Well, isn’t he a concentrated ray of sunlight?”

Draining the glass, eyeing it and then discarding the notion of pouring himself a refill, he set it down on a nearby table. “How long were you watching?”

“Just the whole time, little brother.” Grinning in the face of his rather exasperated expression, the Blood Elf sauntered up to him. “I’ve come to deliver my first report.”

“Really?” he sat down on the couch again and relaxed against the pillows. “What have you found out?”

“For obvious reasons I didn’t write anything down,” Valeera joined him on the couch, “but I’ve been prodding at some friends I still retain in Silvermoon on the matter of his past as the Ranger Lord of the Far Striders and I’ve learned a few things that may at least be a bit of help.”

“Do tell.”

“The former Prince, Kael’thas, had feelings at one point for Sylvanas. Because of this he treated Nathanos with a level of disdain unusual even for the Elves. Would often pass him off the servants whenever the chance presented itself to do so.”

“That certainly explains his reaction to my suggestion servants bring him anything he might need.” He said. “What else?”

“Their relationship was decried as being worth nothing. Nonexistent at best, and at worst-if only because it implied admission that they actually _were_ anything beyond mentor and student-a passing fling. A toy to be meddled with until he died or she moved on to something better. Of lesser worth. No matter how strong your personality is, with everyone around you saying such things for so many years…a part of you starts to believe it.” Valeera said. “Not to mention the fact that, at the time, Sylvanas was well known for vanity which rivaled her skill with the bow. So, it wasn’t a baseless conclusion. There were other men she’d been with who she’d tired of and tossed aside. I’d imagine he’d still be…sore regarding such matters.”

“A sensible conclusion.”

“He’d certainly be left soft to someone like you. Who’s capable, to the degree that you are, of love.”

“…” Anduin just stared at her.

“And I look forward to you doing so. Because I feel like he’ll be a little less poisonous if he has a few fewer festering emotional wounds.”

“I suppose.” A brief silence in which they looked at each other in silence. “Did you find out anything about his life before Sylvanas? I know that he was a farmer who lived on the Marris Stead in what is now the Eastern Plaguelands which, come to think of it, goes quite a ways towards explaining his deep rooted hatred of birds. But there are still important questions that need answers.”

“Such as?”

“Does he have living relatives, and would we be able to bring them together again?” Anduin said. “I think that connections would be of great help in bringing Nathanos Marris and Nathanos Blightcaller more in line with one another. I sense a fracturing in him, and it’s my hope that healing it will relieve at least a portion of his anguish.”

Valeera tilted her head. “You think he’s in pain?”

“I know he is, Valeera. I can feel it whenever I’m near him.” He said. “And I think he’s been in pain for so long that he doesn’t notice anymore. To some degree I’d hypothesis there’s a part of him which believes he deserves to be.”

“So now, on top of using him, you want to give him the necessary therapy to make the fact he’s being used by someone else in a position of power over him do damage?” Valeera shook her head. “By the Light, Anduin! If you’re not careful you’re going to mess him up more!”

“I’ve been thinking on that matter for a while now.” He told her. “What you said. And though I’m still uncertain on specific points…you’re right. I can’t approach this in the way I’d first planned to. He’s not a tool, not a hound, he’s a person, regardless of what he may have come to believe of himself, and its wrong, both morally and ethically, to treat him otherwise.”

Valeera reached out to ruffle his hair but, seeing it coming, Anduin swiftly ducked out of reach. “Well, at least you’ve gotten that far.” She said. “On a more serious note, our stockade is rather conspicuously minus an Orc and I’m curious as to whether you’re aware.”

“I should hope so, seeing as I’m the one who let him out.” Anduin said. “Nathanos wasn’t particularly pleased with my decision.”

“I can’t imagine why.” Valeera said. “you have some sort of plan with this?”

“When have I ever not had a plan?”

“Is that a rhetorical question?”

Anduin huffed. “The more division we can wield as a weapon to fracture the Horde the more unstable the Dark Lady’s base of support will become. The easier it will be for us to cut out the rot while sparing the tree.”

“Only to start another war.”

“The Light and the Shadow will never have peace, yet they need each other to exist.” Anduin said. “I’ve dispatched SI:7 Agents to keep an eye on him. To make sure neither the Overlord nor the Warchief get any ideas about each other before we want them to.”

“If you really think that that alone will be enough.”

Anduin sighed and shook his head. “I don’t.” He said. “Unfortunately, we’re spread far too thin for me to implement anything approaching ‘enough’ and are about to become even more so.”

“What do you mean?” her expression shifted into one of concern. "Has something happened?”

“Not yet. But it’s about to.” He said. “Tyrande’s making moves to retake Darkshore while we should be focusing our efforts on moving on Dazar’alor and convincing the Zandalari better of throwing in their lot with the Horde. Genn has already pledged the aid of Gilneas. No doubt she’ll be coming to petition my aid tomorrow.”

“You know that I’ll be with you, don’t you? Even if you can’t see me?”

Anduin nodded, tired gratitude shinning in his eyes. “Honestly, ‘Leera, I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have you here.”

“Probably the same thing that your father did after he lost your mother. Back when you were still too young to stop him. Before he met us. Throw so much of himself into protecting his kingdom and his people that he became bitter.” She said, ears drooping. “He never stopped being a good man, but…I don’t want to see you go through the same things he did. Suffering that way. Varian didn’t deserve it. Neither do you.”

“If only ‘deserving’ or ‘not deserving’ something to happen determine whether or not it would.” Anduin said.

“In a perfect world.” Valeera told him. “Go to bed. I’m sure you’ll need the sleep, come morning.”

As much as the young King might have wished otherwise, she was probably right.

Cue his usual routine: get up, get dressed, eat a light breakfast and dress in his ceremonial plate before making his way to the throne room. As expected, three nobles-Count Ridgewell, Lord Murding and Baron Dawsend-were waiting to descend on him like a school of famished piranhas but, abnormally, they didn’t immediately speak.  
               He didn’t have to look far as to why. Nathanos was in plain view atop the dais of the Lion Seat, leaned against the throne with an arrow and a boot knife in his hands. The Dark Ranger Lord appeared to be carving something into the arrow’s wooden body, thin curls of wood falling down about his feet.

“Ah,” he rumbled, red eyes flicking up to him as the doors swung shut, “the return of the King. Sleep well?”

“I never sleep well, but such is the burden of the crown.” Anduin sighed as he lowered himself onto the Lion Seat. Willing himself not to turn and look at the man beside him. “Shall we get down to things?”

“No need, my Liege. These gold dusted dullards have only come hoping to further crow inanities which neither you nor I have time for.” Nathanos informed him. “Though I must ask, is it Dawsend with an e or a u? I’d like to have the spelling correct on the arrow I intend to shoot you with if you ever say something as stupid as you did a moment ago in my presence again, just to be certain I’ve covered all my bases.”

The Baron blanched, opening his mouth and closing it again a few times before finding his voice and croaking out “m-my King, please! Control him!”

Nathanos’ responded to the inherent assertion that Anduin even possessed such power by attempting to burn a hole into the nobleman’s forehead with his eyes. Unable to avoid it anymore, the young King turned his head. “I’m going to have to ask you not to threaten the members of my House of Nobles.”

“Then your ‘House of Nobles’ had better find a brain between them!” The Blightcaller growled. “Of they’ll be treated to a first-hand lesson on how the mere concept of nobility was handled by the Forsaken!”

Anduin had to take a moment to consider how best to answer that threat before settling on “well, if any of my nobles suddenly goes missing, I’ll know that it was you.”

“Oh? Do you not believe in the concept of coincidence, my King? ‘Divine providence’, perhaps? You are a Priest, after all.”

Anduin rolled his shoulders to stymy the shudder which rolled down his spine. Determined not to allow any of his compromising feelings to show in the presence of the three hungry sharks in the form of men standing at the front of his throne. “I do, Nathanos, but some matters are simply _too_ coincidental.”

Turning his attention back to the Noblemen, all of whom were still cautiously eyeing Nathanos, Anduin said “submit paperwork on whatever it was you wished to speak to me about today. I’ll go over it when I next have a moment.”

Under normal circumstances the Priest didn’t doubt a fuss would have been raised on the matter, but the three seemed more concerned in that moment with getting free of Nathanos’ burning gaze than anything else and quickly exited the room.

Anduin was suddenly hyper aware of the presence of the handful of Royal Guards scattered at even intervals throughout the room, stood against the walls at parade rest; of precisely how close Nathanos’ position, half leaning against the throne to his right, and how easily he could ‘accidentally’ touch him; of the rattle-scratch of the sharp knife digging into the body of the arrow that he held.

_Scratch. Scratch. Scratch._

The tension mounting tenfold every time. Anduin could feel the heat rising in his blood. The metal armor constricting around his chest and throat. Sweat beading along the back of his neck. He squirmed and felt those red eyes fall on him like a leaden weight.

_Scratch. Scratch. Scratch._

Anduin tried to swallow but his throat was too dry. His tongue pasting itself to the roof of his mouth. Blood beginning to thud louder and louder in his ears until he feared he might go deaf.

Finally, just when he was convinced his head would pop like an overfilled Dark Moon Faire balloon, the doors of the throne room opened again allowing Tyrande-accompanied by the Warden Maiev and a cadre of Night Elves-entered. The High Priestess of Elune took three steps into the room, caught sight of Nathanos and stopped dead in her tracks. The others soon followed suit, a flurry of hissed Darnassian-markedly displeased in tone, though far too swift for Anduin to even begin to make it out-fluttering through their ranks.

“Well, if it isn’t the Queen of the Tree Elves.” Nathanos drawled, returning the arrow he’d been whittling to the quiver on his back but keeping the knife drawn, pausing a moment to hum thoughtfully. “No, that isn’t right. What _do_ you rule over these days?”

“ _Blightcaller_!” Tyrande snarled. “I was not aware that _you_ would be here!”

“Nor was _our_ King aware that you would be.” A lie, in truth, as Genn had alerted him. Nathanos’ emphasis on the equivalence of station between them, driving home the point that they-for better or worse-were now on the same side, received the no doubt desired response of causing her to recoil. “Remember in whose court you stand, Witch!”

“Nathanos!” Anduin reprimanded as the Night Elf rounded on him.

“Does he speak for you now, Wrynn?”

“Tyrande, please.” The young King rose from his throne, sending an almost nervous glance at the Dark Ranger Lord’s still coiled posture and drawn knife, then stepped forward. “Let us discuss why you’ve come. This has to do with retaking Darkshore, yes?”

“That _beast_ ,” Tyrande threw yet another torching glare at Nathanos, who glared back just as viciously. Anduin got the distinct impression that, if such were possible, fire would be jetting from their eyes. “Just stated that you weren’t aware I would be coming. Yet you seem to know why.”

“Nathanos is unaware of the fact that Genn informed me yesterday that you approached him, about what and that he agreed to extend the aid of Gilneas.”

“And what,” Tyrande hissed, “will you do, ‘King’ Wrynn? You, who were so very keen to give shelter to a _monster_ who’s caused untold suffering to countless of those who’ve stood beneath he flag of the Alliance for as long as you’ve been _alive_. Are _we_ , Anduin, worth the same consideration as Nathanos Blightcaller?”

“I am the High King of the Alliance, Tyrande, as my father before me. And as High King I must consider the sum of the Alliance’s parts rather than simply its individual pieces and their needs alone.” He said. “Darkshore will be reclaimed. That much I promise you. Teldrassil will be avenged. But for the time being our attention must be devoted to the effort of dislodging the Zandalari’s union with the Horde. I will pledge Stormwind’s full aid to your cause, but only if you wait.”

“We have waited long enough!” Tyrande snapped, turning her back on him abruptly and storming towards the door. Maiev and the other Night Elves close behind. “If the Alliance will not help us take back what is ours than we shall do so ourselves. Just be warned, Anduin, that we will remember this!”

Silence reigned for a drawn-out moment before Nathanos spoke again. “An unwise time to grow a spine.”

As the door swung shut behind them, Anduin dropped his head into his hands.

 


	9. A Traitor's Shadow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i will read over again for corrections tomorrow. it's 3 am and i just finished pushing a 17 key so im a bit loopy lol enjoy

It had taken longer than Lyana would have preferred, but finally-almost a week after first realizing Nathanos had deserted the Horde at best and joined the Alliance at worst-she Vorel and Belmonte had gotten all of the necessary arrangements to cover their absences from their respective posts over and done with. Having taken the portal from Dazar’alor to Orgrimmar, and then from Orgrimmar to Silvermoon the three of them were now making their way down the narrow street called Murder Row in search of the address of Leranir Glowsign, the Mage whom Vorel had managed to hire on agreement of silence. Though it still hung on the jagged edge of noon and evening, there was no one on the street to see them except for the habitual drunk who always seemed to be sprawled out beside the curtained doorway of a shady looking bar. Too far gone to raise his head, he tried and failed to focus his eyes in their direction as they passed him by.

“Where is this Mage, Vorel?” Lyana hissed. “We haven’t all night to be wandering around!”

“Not much further.” She said. “The address should be right up this way. Yes, here.”

The building in question was markedly smaller than they’d expected, built in the style of a tower with gilded adornments decorating its sides. They entered without knocking and found Leranir-short for an Elf with long black hair slicked down his back-waiting for them, a portal already open which showed a glimpse of green trees on the other side.

“I’m not going to ask why the three of you want to go to Elwynn Forest, if only because of the agreement that we reached.” He said. “I’ll only hold you up for long enough to alert you to the fact that this portal will drop you at an abandoned guard tower just to the west of Stormwind. You should be able to reach the city in about fifteen minutes on foot while running into a minimum of guards out on patrol. You’ll be on your own for getting back; leaving the portal open for that long carries too much risk.

“We don’t require a portal back, so that’s fine.” Vorel said as Lyana pushed passed and stepped through the open portal. “Excuse us.” She followed her companion through, Belmonte bringing up the rear.

The crenulated tower had really been let go, the crumbling stone over grown with moss and vines and the area immediately surrounding it looking as if it had only recently been vacated by a tribe of Gnolls. A stiff breeze shifted through the canopy overhead, tinted faintly with the brine of the Great Sea and carrying the chill of coming night. A wolf trotted by, pausing to observe them for a moment before carrying on its way.

“Move on the city. Let’s not waste time.” Lyana started down the slopping hill the tower sat atop. “Split up once we reach the gate. _Find_ him.”

They made their way between the towering trees, making a concerted point of avoiding the roads and pathways which cut through the forest so as not to cross the sight of any guards and parted ways when they reached Stormwind’s towering gates. The massive wooden doors stood open, propped on twin sets of titanic hinges, framing the Walk of Heroes with its looming marble statues in curtains of sturdy oak and wrought iron. Fanned out across the width of the mouth of the bridge which lead into the city itself was an invariable cadre of heavily armored guardsmen and mounted knights, all glaring down the main road.

This was their heightened security?

Lyana scaled one wall, Vorel the other, and Belmonte was left the difficult task of picking his way through the minefield of men and horses placed between him and entry into the city. Bolting up the Walk of Heroes once out the other side.

The Deathstalker Commander knew Nathanos not to be a man prone to sitting idle, always doing something even if merely brooding over his next move in terrorizing his latest subject of annoyance or tending to his hounds, so he knew better than to assume he’d be held up in some far corner of the city staring at a wall. He’d be in the thick of training or strategy or torturing any unsuspecting fools he came across, and the most evident place for accomplishing all of those things would be the Keep.

So that was where he headed.

Belmonte didn’t even make it inside before he came across Nathanos, trailing the young King-bare of armor-down the outer stairs. Bow, cloak and mail replaced with a white button up and dark slacks in which he appeared decidedly out of place.

Reaching the bottom, and out of ear shot of the guards posted astride the doors, the Priest smirked and said “you look nice.”

A growl. The smirk cracked wider.

“I hadn’t expected you to change, though I’m glad that you did. Now I know that everything will fit.”

“I thought I’d minimize the splits in your attention.” He snapped. “Once more you’ve demonstrated your capacity for sheer stupidity and lacking sense of self preservation. We need to speak.”

“Then speak?” was that a question?

Nathanos seemed to be wondering the same if the unimpressed expression on the Blightcaller’s face was anything to go by. “I intend to, once you’ve finished whatever it is you’re seeking now to go and do. Simply to insure I have the full focus of your walnut sized brain.”

“You always have my full attention.” Inexplicably Wrynn turned red immediately afterwards. “I mean, it’s impolite not to afford someone my full attention when they’re speaking to me.”

The Blightcaller scoffed and turned away and the pair continued down the road. Crossing over the nearby canal and entering Cathedral Square. Belmonte followed, careful to remain far enough away that he wouldn’t risk Nathanos picking up on his presence. The light of the setting sun reflected tones of red off the top of Anduin’s head. If anyone dared to look in their direction and failed to redirect their attention with enough speed they were treated to a scorching red eyed glare.

They didn’t enter the cathedral, but pathed around its perimeter into the graveyard behind it. Here, briefly, Anduin stopped and looked towards a cenotaph overgrown with wisteria. “My mother was buried here after she was killed in the Stonemason Riots.” His voice was leaden. Expectedly, Nathanos’ face remained carved from stone. “Even still, I don’t come often so I may take a few wrong turns before I find it.”

“It?”

The King simply walked away instead of answering. Growling again under his breath, Nathanos stalked after him. For a short period of time the pair wove between the stones and topiaries before finally arriving at the proper stone. A large column of black marble with a Lordaeric Crest atop it, names carved in gold down its four sides. Anduin stepped up to it, trailing a gloved fingertip softly down the gilded names until he came upon the one he was looking for and stopped.

“Ah, I suspected as much.” He said. “Certain names’ indeed. Ridgewell always was talented in being just short of clear with his demands.”

“Names?” Nathanos stepped closer, red eyes landing on the one Anduin had stopped at, then stiffened. “ _What_ is this monument?”

“A memorial for those who lost their lives when the Scourge overtook Lordaeron.” He scrolled through the list to another name before stopping again. “Yours is on here too. Nathanos Marris. Ridgewell, as well as some of the other nobles, want the names of ‘hostile combatants’ struck off.”

“You disagree?”

“Of course.” Anduin said. “Let us take Sylvanas,” the odd twitch from Nathanos at the invocation of the Banshee Queen’s name didn’t go unnoticed by either of them, “for example. Now, she’s a war criminal and an enemy whose done terrible things but she died a hero of the Alliance. Of her people. No matter what, that doesn’t deserve to be forgotten.”

“And again,” Nathanos said, “you demonstrate your softness.”

“Perhaps.” He said. “But we’ve spoken of my reasoning before.”

A grunt.

“You wanted to discuss something?”

Nathanos pulled his attention away from the monument, focusing his baleful gaze on the King. “Tyrande Whisperwind, first and foremost, is a spiteful vengeful witch. And when she says she will not forget your decision she isn’t lying.” He said. “It may be too late already to prevent it, but if we act now, we can yet slow it down.”

“It?”

“Do try not to be daft, Wrynn.” He snapped. “She still holds a grudge against the Sin’dorei for what their Highborne ancestors did during the Sundering. If you think she isn’t capable of waiting until this war is over, or the timing is more convenient, and your guard has dropped enough that you no longer expect the Sentinel’s glaive which will find itself a home in your back than you’re more a fool than even I gave you credit for. She’d love to see you replaced, I’m sure. Likely by Greymane, who’s obliged to them in more ways than you ever will be.”

“You really believe that she’d try such a thing?”

“Don’t tell me you were really so stupid as to believe the Alliance immune to the Fracturing which has infected the Horde.”

“I think suggesting she’d have me assassinated is going a bit far, Nathanos.”

“I don’t.” He snapped. “And I won’t run the risk of it occurring while I find myself dependent on your shelter.”

“And who would you suggest I send? You were present when I turned her away. You know both where the bulk of the Alliance’s forces are directed and why.”

“Your Champion of course, my Liege.”

“You’re volunteering?” he said. “I don’t know, Nathanos. Putting you Genn and Tyrande into a stoppered vial and shaking it up sounds like the type of alchemical reaction I’d rather avoid.”

“The cur’s discomfort is a side benefit, I’ll admit, to my going but the main reason I wish to do so is that it’s necessary I prove myself to the Alliance. Is it not?” Nathanos said. “I was integral in taking Darkshore to begin with. I can likewise be integral in taking it back.”

Anduin seemed to hesitate, something unsure in his blue eyes, before he nodded. “Yes, I think this matter may be best served with the solution. Not only would this serve as an olive branch, a compromise of sorts, it would allow you something to show for your claims of loyalty.”

A grumbled response. Nathanos folded his arms across his chest, eyeing the stone monument as if it had just personally insulted his mother. “Are we done here?”

“Yes. I’ve fulfilled my duties in this instance and am under no obligation to further action.” A pause. “I think I’ll head to Lion’s Rest. I rarely have the time to visit father these days. To reflect.”

Another grunt.

“You’ll come to me tonight?”

Belmonte almost fell off the perch he’d found atop a nearby crypt. Nathanos stared at the King in what looked like disbelief before he said “consider the possible implication of that wording and how it might be misinterpreted.”

A beat of silence. The King turned red as a Fel Orc and spluttered “that isn’t what I meant! I’d simply appreciate a bit of company for dinner!”

Nathanos raised an eyebrow. “Is this the expected evolution of your ‘buy it dinner first’ comment?”

Red to crimson. “Quite the contrary!”

“If company is all you wish, bother your Elf.”

“I-!”

A sharp bark emitted from the bag hung at the Blightcaller’s side, the thick material squirming until the Plaguehound inside of it succeeded in maneuvering itself enough to stick its head out of it. Glowing eyes set on where Belmonte crouched.

The ability of the breed to see through stealth made the Deathstalker Commander intensely grateful of the fact he was well out of its reach as the thing leapt from the bag which contained it and tore off across the grass.

“Boots!” Anduin took two steps towards the puppy, now madly bouncing around the base of where he crouched like a rubber ball from hell, barking loudly, before Nathanos grabbed him from behind. Arms wrapping around his waist and lifting him off his feet. Flinging his smaller body over one shoulder amid loud protests and beginning a swift retreat. “Blightcaller, put me down!”

“I think not!” Nathanos snapped, whistling sharply for the hound which circle back to him with its stubby tail pole straight in the air. “Something’s stalking us and neither one of us is armed! My concern is getting you to safety so you can dispatch your guard to find it!”

That, Belmonte knew, was his que to locate Lyana and Vorel and vacate the city. The Dark Lady needed to be made aware and it wouldn’t do well for them to be discovered by the Stormwind guard.

Vorel was poking around the stockades and Lyana was parsing through the docks when he found them. Retreating from the city’s walls before using the hearthstones they carried with them to return to Orgrimmar.

Lyana’s first move was to drag them both into an unoccupied corner of the portal room and demand “well, did either of you find him?”

“No.” Vorel said. “Though it seems the Overlord isn’t being held captive any longer. The guards didn’t seem concerned, so it’s more likely he was released than that he escaped.”

“I did.” Belmonte said. “He was with Wrynn, on friendly terms. Perhaps even more than friendly, going off some comments made. He’s being dispatched to Darkshore as Wrynn’s Champion to assist in the Night Elves' attempt to take back their lands. There’s no longer any question about whether or not the Dark Lady should be informed.”

“No. You’re right.” Lyana turned toward the door, dark cloak rippling behind her. “Let’s not waste time.”

The sun had only just disappeared below the horizon but the heat of the day was rapidly bleeding away. Ignoring the passers by and merchants lingering in the ever-busy streets the small group made their way inside of Grommash Hold.

The Banshee Queen reclined on the massive Orcish throne, her red eyes cutting through them almost the instant they arrived. “Lyana. Vorel. Deathstalker Commander.” She said. “I haven’t called for any of you.”

“We’ve come with urgent news, my Lady.” Lyana said. “It’s about Nathanos.”

“What of him?” she asked. “It’s been some days since I last heard from my Champion, which I’ll admit to finding odd. Have the Alliance acted to cut off communication?”

A drawn-out silence. Lyana, despite her triumph, was suddenly reluctant to incite the reaction which all three knew was coming.

“My Lady,” she said, then hesitated again before finally admitting “the Blightcaller has betrayed us. We weren’t certain of matters at first so we tracked him down. He’s in Stormwind, now. Serving Wrynn.”

The Banshee Queen’s relaxed posture had suddenly gone stiff, her grip on the arms of the throne tightening until the stone cracked beneath her taloned gauntlets. Red eyes glowing like embers freshly ejected from a fire.

“After all this time, after everything, he’s betrayed us?” she was on her feet with such suddenness that it was almost as if she’d Blinked those few feet forwards. Her tattered cloak cracking behind her like a whip. “The Blightcaller should be more aware than _anyone_ precisely how the Forsaken handle traitors!”

“The Alliance is planning to move on Darkshore, my Queen.” Belmonte said. “Wrynn has dispatched the Blightcaller to support them.”

“Darkshore?” Sylvanas repeated, stopping in her tracks and rounding on them once again. “Really? How fortuitous. We’ve left so many perfectly good Night Elves lie for more than long enough. Vorel!”

“Dark Lady?”

“Muster our forces. Ensure that our grip on Darkshore is one not easily pried loose.” She said. “I’ll make the necessary preparations to pay a visit to the area and…oversee things. I wish to take care of Nathanos personally.”

“Of course, my Lady.”

“Now, leave me be. All of you!” She snarled. “Before I lose what little grasp on my temper I yet retain.”

All three were quick to show themselves out. Once they were out of sight, Sylvanas lowered herself back onto the throne.

 _Well done, my Champion. If the Little Lion is sending you to serve his throne so soon, then we know he’s taken our bait hook line and sinker._ Dropping her hand off the armrest beside her, Sylvanas ran her fingers lightly along the smooth curve of her bow. _Regrettable as it is, when we soon cross paths you’ll have to bleed. But taking blows to down our foes is the nature of an arrow._ She reclined against the high stone back. _I know that you won’t fail me._


	10. In Teldrassil's Shadow

The guard hadn’t found anyone despite combing the entire city twice over, though evidence was discovered that something might have been poking around in the area surrounding the stockades, and Anduin had received the company for dinner that he’d wished for. In the form of the Royal Guard rather than Nathanos. After a good few hours spent scratching his signature, time and again, onto an array of documents a handful of stiff drinks and a sliver of sleep the young King found himself standing once again in the Portal Room of the Mage Tower with Nathanos and Valeera at his side.

“The Kaldorei forces, according to the reports I’ve received most recently, are currently based out of Ashenvale. This portal will drop both of you off at the Zoram Strand, from which point it should be simple for you to meet up with the bulk of their assault.” Anduin said. “Tyrande likely won’t be pleased but she asked for my aid and now she’ll receive it.”

“You’re sending your Elf as well, my Liege?” Nathanos drawled, glaring at Valeera from where he stood beside Bloodwing. His pseudo sister ignored the baleful red eyes, scratching behind Bristlefur’s ears.

“You’re known to be Sylvanas’ Champion, not mine. Valeera, however, has been a close friend of the House of Wrynn for years now. Genn wasn’t present when you took your oath and thus isn’t aware of precisely whom it was that wrote that letter. Tyrande and Malfurion are but I can’t be certain they’ll be present when you arrive or that they will vouch for you.”

“In other words, Blightcaller,” Valeera said, “I’m going to diffuse the bomb I have little doubt you’d love to see go off.”

“Quite the contrary, Sanguinar.” Nathanos snapped. “I’ll never fail to return fire but having this campaign fall through for any reason even remotely connected to me could lead to unfounded accusations of sabotage. And _that_ , Elf, is the last thing I need.”

“You’re more level headed than your reputation would suggest, Blightcaller. For that much I’m thankful.” Anduin said. “Safe travels, both of you. And don’t worry for Boots, I’ll take good care of her while you’re away.”

Nathanos didn’t comment on his continued use of the puppy’s name, but his expression said more than enough. “Meat and milk _only_. Twice a day. And no treating her like a pet!”

“You have my word,” Anduin said, crossing his fingers behind his back, “that I will not, under any circumstances, take advantage of your absence to play fetch with her and dress her up in knitted sweaters.”

“ _I will be interrogating your guards!_ ” Anduin couldn’t tell if that was a promise or a threat. Nathanos turned and stepped through the portal, tugging Bloodwing along by the reigns.

“I’ll return by nightfall.” Valeera promised, nudging Bristlefur along. “Try not to overwork yourself in the meanwhile.”

Mist hung thick and white around them, clinging to the dark sand a crumbling ruins-overgrown with kelp and crusted in barnacles-rising up at odd angles. Yards away, barely visible through the haze, the massive trunks of the ancient trees making up the forest of Ashenvale rose into the night sky. Valeera shivered, the damp air slithering clammy tongues across his exposed skin. Bristlefur grumbled and shook out her coat. Nathanos stood unmoved, his red eyes blazing like infernal beacons.

“Let us not waste time.” He growled, sheathed sword rattling at his belt as he swung himself up into the saddle. Bloodwing parted from the sand a moment later, forcing Valeera to scramble to catch up. The mist whipped passed her, tugging at her hair, and then finally parted. Revealing the open vault of the sky and the shining silver moon.

Aside from the wine toned membranes of its wings the riding bat and its black clad rider blended in with the night almost completely. Banking inland and keeping just below the lowest canopy of the forest the pair flew in silence, descending in lazy circles onto the silent streets of Astranaar.

“The intel we were dispatched with indicates the High Priestess’ forces to be somewhere nearby.” He grunted, dismounting with the quiet clatter of mail. “If you could be bothered to assist me.”

Valeera didn’t answer, aside from a sharp glare, as she dismounted as well and headed away around the corner of the nearest building. Not wasting a moment and without a glance spared in his mount’s direction Nathanos slunk forward into the dark. Searching for signs that the Kaldorei forces he’d been sent to meet up with had indeed come that way. Footprints, from either mounts or soldiers, or wheel tracks from the Glaive throwers they’d brought along with them. Red eyes scanned the ground before him, marshy with proximity to the lake.

Something moved in the darkness nearby, his hunter instincts flaring with the realization it wasn’t Valeera. Nathanos spun on his heel, drawing an arrow and knocking the string in a single fluid motion and dropping into a battle stance. Searching through the shadows for any signs of what had caused the disturbance before a loud growl rang from just behind him. He spun around just in time for the Worgen’s massive form to collide with him broadside. The momentum of the collision lifting him off his feet, back slamming down into the mud. Had he still been living he’d have been left dazed by the force and the sudden expelling of the breath from his lungs.

The beast leapt for him again. Eyes flaring gold against the night sky. Its fur blazing silver in the moonlight. “ ** _Blightcaller_**!”

Nathanos rolled up onto all fours, ripping the dagger from his side midway through, and fell into a sooth crouch. Greymane’s claws cut deep into the mud. The Worgen’s paws slipping on the sodden earth at landing. Rounding on him again with a feral snarl, teeth on full display.

This time, when he lunged, Nathanos was ready. Bracing for collision and his fall. Flinging the Worgen into the trunk of a nearby tree with a resonant crash, knocking a shower of bark down onto the grass. Moving in on the downed beast as he struggled to regain his bearings, shaking his massive fury head as if to clear it.

Nathanos lunged. The Worgen’s arm swung at him, colliding with his chest with almost enough force to crack ribs. He stumbled but, this time, didn’t fall. The Worgen King was snarling. Stalking towards him on all fours. Eyes gleaming.

When he pounced Nathanos swung his bow, the heavy arm of wood and metal colliding with the side of the beast’s throat. Knocking it sideways with a loud yelping growl. Memories of being pinned to the decks of the _Skyfire_ as it circled above Stormheim was not an experience he was eager to repeat, and ‘allies’ or not he’d beat Greymane as hard as was called for to ensure it didn’t happen again.

The Worgen’s gaze was utterly wild, now. Hatred an unfettered blaze in their feral depths. He had another arrow drawn now. Tempted, in the extreme, to fire a Black Arrow rather than the Binding Shot which would hold his cover.

He never had to make that choice, as with a puff of smoke and Warden magic Maiev appeared between them. “King Greymane, that’s enough!”

Genn, burning eyes still set on him, pupils dilated, manic looking, opened his muzzle to protest but before he could Valeera came sprinting out of the darkness, eyes wide and ears pinned back. “Blightcaller!”

“You can tell the ‘King’ that I was simply defending myself! His _dog_ slipped its leash and attacked me!”

“What?” Genn demanded, the expression on his face at once one of horror and disbelieving realization which looked entirely out of place on his wolfish snout. “No! The letter! That was…you scheming bastard, she sent you didn’t see!”

“King Greymane!”

“Anduin has deemed his plea for clemency genuine. He’s taken an oath of service to Stormwind. Has come her to prove himself an asset to the Alliance.” Valeera said, stern and immoveable in the face of the hulking snarling beast that stood before them. “If you’re an issue with the matter than take it up with him.”

“When we requested aid,” Maiev said, “we hadn’t wanted you!”

“Well I am what you got, Warden. And those who beg cannot choose.” Nathanos drawled, reluctantly relaxing a measure of his posture. Eyes still set on Genn who was likewise still glaring at him. “You should really be grateful. Had I not persuaded him better of his original decision you’d be receiving no aid at all.”

“Charity?” Maiev scoffed. “Don’t tell me you really expect me to believe that.”

“Charity can feed the worms. This is a matter of self-preservation and nothing more.” Nathanos spat. “I’ve outlined this time and again, but if such must be done than I’ll do so again. My life, at the moment, depends on his. Thereby its in my best interest to assuage a portion of your ‘Queen’s’ animosity.”

“Animosity?” Genn spat. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

“At the moment, Greymane, Tyrande is a far more likely candidate for putting a dagger in Wrynn’s back than I am.” He snapped. “Now let’s cease this pointless squabbling. Where are your forces? What moves are you planning to make and what intel do you already have?”

Genn snarled at him again. Maiev stared owlishly at him for a long moment before sighing and shaking her head. “Very well, Blightcaller. Follow me. …Sanguinar?”

“I’m not staying. I came to assist in smoothing things over between those two.” Valeera jerked her chin in the direction of the two men who’d resumed glaring at each other. Growling softly in the backs of their throats. “King Anduin is expecting my return.”

“Do make that return swift.” Nathanos said, at last pulling his eyes away from the Worgen. “With you, the cur and I all here and Proudmoore presumably in Kul Tiras the royal moron is at current without adult supervision of any kind.”

“Anduin is not a child!” Genn snapped.

“He often acts like one,” Nathanos snarled back, “so my point thusly stands.”

“Come along, both of you. We haven’t the time to waste.” The Warden turned away and began skirting the water’s edge towards the North.

“Remember your agreement.” Valeera said before melting away into the shadows. Grumbling under his breath, whistling shrilly to call Bloodwing to him-aware that Greymane was watching his every movement with overwhelming suspicion-Nathanos started after Maiev. Ignoring the Worgen completely. Pointedly, even.

He could hear the beast trotting along behind him for the remainder of the journey but refused to give him the satisfaction of looking. They reached the provisional encampment which the Night Elves and accompanying Worgen forces had built and were quickly treated to a myriad of gazes and hissed whispers, none of which were friendly. Nathanos sneered at anyone who dared look at him too long, red eyes flashing. Some faces among the crowd he recognized.

Ivar Bloodfang. Darius Crowley. Crowley’s daughter whom he recalled having assisted in keeping captive during the height of the fighting against the annoyance that was the Gilneas Liberation Front; long black hair and blue eyes wide as she clutched at the hand of another young woman. A Rogue whom he assumed was the Wolf Princess, Tess Greymane, though she herself wasn’t a Worgen. It was interesting, the way that she stared back at him. No shock, like the Crowley girl. No hatred, like her father. Just a cool curiosity which narrowed his eyes.

Tess Greymane was someone his instincts told him he’d be served well watching. A temporary ally it was perhaps worth pursuing. Offering an olive branch to a slightly more tolerable Greymane would only serve to further ingratiate him with Anduin and the fact that it would no doubt drive Genn rabid was just a built-in bonus.

At last reaching what appeared to be serving as a war tent, the trio stepped inside. Another Warden and a handful of Sentinels were already there and looked up from the map stretched across a table with hawkish eyes.

“Ashre thora’man.” The other Warden said. “He sent _you_?”

“Indeed, Kim’jael.” Nathanos snapped back, aware the insult-though Thalassian-would be understood. The other Warden hissed at him and moved to stand but Maiev quickly put an end to whatever fight might otherwise have broken out.

“Sira, stand down!” She barked, then turned on him. “Blightcaller, ‘Champion’ of the High Throne or not, we will not tolerate such behavior! Cease this or return to Stormwind with a message for Anduin that he’d best send better behaved aid in the future.”

He showed his teeth at her.

“Make yourself useful by looking this map over. I know better than to think that we’ve marked every outpost the Horde has managed to carve out of Darkshore with their fetid claws.”

Nathanos’ eyes narrowed, but none the less he stepped up to the table to look over the map. Propping himself casually up on one arm and sweeping a red gaze across the thick sepia parchment and the little leaden figures arrayed across it. Calculating precisely what to say and drawing out the matter as long as he could solely for the sake of nettling his audience. “Mind you that some of their positions are certain to have moved. The severity of that drift depends on whether or not the Banshee Queen is yet aware of the fact that I’ve jumped ship.”

“Blightcaller!” Genn roared, causing more than a few of the Night Elves to jump.

“Very well, Greymane.” Nathanos drawled. “To my knowledge, mind the caveat above, the outposts and holdings that you have marked are correct. However, you’re lacking notions of outposts here,” he stabbed the map with one finger, the parchment crinkling loudly, “and here.”

“Gloomtide Strand and Cinderfall Grove.” Sira said. “What would your former Queen want with those places?”

“The maw of the Horde will devour all that it can under Sylvanas’ rule. Just as the Scourge before it.” Nathanos said. “Which is precisely why I got out.”

“As if that makes you any less of a monster than her.”

The Dark Ranger Lord straightened up and turned to face him. “Unlike you, Worgen, I accepted what I was years ago. Now, I’m quite done with you.” Turning to Maiev, he demanded “where’s your ‘Queen’?”

“We don’t know.”

Nathanos pulled up short. “ ** _What?_** ”

“The High Priestess is a formidable warrior. She’s able to-.”

“ _Idiot!_ ‘Formidable warrior’ or not I doubt that she can stand against an army on her own!” He snapped. “I always make a point of knowing where my ruler is, or of actively seeking to find them when I don’t, regardless of whether they’re ‘capable’ or not! I learned my lesson the one time I didn’t!”

“And what could possibly have happened?”

Nathanos’ red eyes blazed as he rounded on the Worgen King. “ _He_ came.”

A beat of silence.

“Tyrande is an able fighter in her own right, Blightcaller, and is looked over by Elune.”

“Elune.” He spat. “Your Goddess let your people burn. Just as Belore allowed the Quel’dorei to fall and the Scourge to defile the very font of his power! Only fools hide behind religion! I’d rather live dependent on my own power and die by my weakness than spend my last moments pleading aid from a supposed higher power that either doesn’t care or doesn’t exist at all!” Ignoring the indignant spluttering of the Elves Nathanos turned towards the tent opening. “We’ve no time to waste in going after her. Quickly! Before she’s discovered by the Horde!”

Genn turned to Maiev, hackles on end. “You’re just going to let him take over?”

“No.” The Warden said, heading towards the tent flap herself. “But in this much he has a point. Tyrande could easily become overwhelmed.”

Nathanos hadn’t gone far; stood a handful of yards outside the tent he glared at them with his large red eyes. Glowing faintly in the dark. The massive bat beside him couldn’t be bothered to do the same, too busy nibbling its wings in an attempt to groom them.

He said nothing, simply pulled himself up into the saddle and prodded the beast into the air. Circling lazily overhead until they joined him astride hippogriffs. Genn shrunk down reluctantly into his human form. Like a dark shadow, the Blightcaller trailed behind them as they flew over the border into Darkshore. Down out of the sky and onto the pale sand.

Like a hound seeking the trail of game he paced the area. Scanning the sea damp grains. The scattered driftwood and the sun-bleached bones of threshadons and sea turtles. Landing at last on the bow left discarded in the sand.

“This is your Queen’s, yes?” He drew the sword from his belt and used the slightly hooked tip to lift it into the air without having to touch it. As if it were unclean. “She’s certainly been here, though it doesn’t bode well that she’s discarded a perfectly good weapon.”

“’Doesn’t bode well’,” Genn repeated. “The way you say that makes it sound like you’re _hoping_ something’s happened.”

“I-.” Nathanos cut himself off, lobbing the blade in his hand at the Gilnean King who flung himself out of the way with a yowl of indignant surprise. Clearing the path for the weapon to lodge in the hollow chest cavity of the Deathstalker who’d been creeping up behind him. Snapping its spine, its body falling in two halves to the sand. “ ** _We’re not alone! Defend yourselves!”_**

Deprived of one weapon Nathanos drew his bow again. Coating the head in flammable oil and striking it alight against his taloned glove. Firing the flare into the sand nearby and revealing the stealthed Forsaken who’d been lurking nearby its immediate area.

Unveiled, they rushed their position. Drawn blades tinted green with the poison which coated them. The two Wardens lunged into the fray with their glaives drawn, Greymane-erupting back into Worgen form-not far behind. Shandris Feathermoon, the Sentinel who’d accompanied them pathed lithely back and forth. Raining arrows down onto the advancing Forsaken.  Nathanos lit three more arrows aflame to unveil the rest of the lurking forces before the sound of something crashing down through the trees towards them. The smell of the thing, a blood soaked slaughter house ridden with disease, preceding it like a battering ram.

He knew that smell. It was emblazoned in his memory from the months of hard battle up in the North against Arthas’ forces; from the years spent walking passed their bloated corpulent forms in the Under City’s halls; from the last moments of his life before he’d fallen at the Marris Stead, his once home, in a failed effort to protect his family after being unable to do so for the woman he’d loved. A smell synonymous with the horror of the sight of the beast. With the pain of a meat hook being threaded through his chest. With the darkness that had followed before…

The Abomination charged out of the trees with an echoing roar. One arm clutching a rusted cleaver, another a heavy chain and the third clenched into a waving fist. Stitches threading across its slimy, maggot white skin. Entrails spilling from the open cavity of its massive stomach, studded with the tips of sharpened ribs like the teeth of a monstrous beast.

Nathanos didn’t give his companions much of a chance to react, a vicious snarl leaving his lips as the Necromantic powers which had replaced his lost Ranger magic roared up within him like an uncontained blaze. A Black Arrow so powerful that it split the night like a dark star firing from his bow, colliding with the beast and ripping it apart at its seams. Raining bone and bits of flesh onto the dry leaves around it.

“Elune’s mercy!” Sira stared at him, wide eyes beneath her horned owl helm.

“They know we’re here!” Nathanos snarled. “More of them will come! _If_ there are further clues here you need to find them! **_Cease to stare at me!”_**

He had enough of a point that none of the others attempted to argue. Simply turning to their surroundings and quickly looking them over. Searching high and low until finally arriving at the sun bleached, busted hull of a ship.

“Here!” Shandris called, leaping down from what had once been the vessel’s upper deck with an ancient flaking tome in her hands. “This was left behind. It talks about something called the ‘Night Warrior’.”

“The Night Warrior?” Sira repeated.

“No.” Maiev sounded horrified. “She wouldn’t!”

“What,” Genn and Nathanos chorused before promptly glaring at each other, “is the Night Warrior?”

“The incarnation of Elune’s wrath. Through a ritual of ascension some among our people could embody the Night Warrior as her avatar. Legends say she was used to carve out our empire prior to the sundering but ever since none who’ve attempted it have survived.” Maiev said. “Even witnessing the rite can be fatal! We have to stop her!”

“And how do you propose we manage that?” Nathanos demanded. “Even I, as a Dark Ranger, can’t guarantee I’d manage to track her down in time.”

Something landed overhead with the soft thump of talons against wood and all five of them looked up. Meeting with the gaze of glowing white eyes.

The Blightcaller made a disgusted noise. “A bird!”

“Dori’thur!” Shandris said. The glowing owl observed them a moment longer before taking off again, fluttering away into the forest. “After him! He’ll be able to lead us to Tyrande!”

Running through the forest at night after an owl? Marvelous. This was precisely what Nathanos had hoped to find himself doing with his time. He didn’t comment on the matter, however. Simply retrieving his blade from the Rogue it had become embedded in and trotting after Greymane and the others.

They didn’t travel on a road. No, they trekked at speed through the gnarled undergrowth of fallen logs and brambles. Following the glowing owl as it maneuvered through the trees. Ultimately ending up at the town of Auberdine, left ruined in the wake of the Cataclysm in honor of those who had fallen there.

“She must be seeking the Eye of Elune. It was last kept here, in Auberdine.” Maiev said as they paused at the tree line. “It’s the only explanation for why she’d come here.”

“Be on your guard.” Nathanos’ red eyes scanned the area. Far too much open ground for his comfort in between broken land, running water and upturned buildings. “There’s little cover here. If the Dark Lady’s forces are lying in wait for us as they were back at the Strand, they’re sure to see us long before we see them.”

The Warden made an assenting sound which bore a great deal of resemblance to an indignant house cat. “Sira, scout the shoreline. We’ll find Tyrande and meet up with you at Lor’danel.”

“As you command.”

“Elune be with you, sister.”

“The way that she was ‘with us’ when Teldrassil burned?”

The elder Warden looked down at her hawkishly. “Now is not the time. Go!”

Grumbling, the younger Warden slunk away. The moment she was out of sight Maiev turned to Nathanos. “Don’t think I haven’t a job for you.”

“How might I be of service to _the Alliance_ , Warden?”

“If there are any of your former compatriots here in Auberdine,” she said, “hunt them down. With prejudice.”

“I’d be pleased to.” He turned away.

“I’m not finished yet, Dark Ranger. Do not turn your back on me!” Maiev tilted her chin at the Worgen King. “Take Greymane with you.”

For a drawn-out moment the pair traded dagger eyes, faces twisted into identical rictuses of disgust. Then Nathanos growled “as you wish. Come along, Worgen.”

Genn growled as the Night Elves began creeping further into the ruins before them. “Don’t think I’m going to allow you to order me around! If anyone is going to be taking commands it’s you. **_I_** am a King!”

“And **_I_** am representing the _High King_ at current, so attempting to pull the rank card, Greymane, will get you nowhere.” He turned away from the other man. “Now, are you going to be silent or do I need to get the shock collar?”

Genn couldn’t contain the indignant bark which passed his clenched teeth. From how smug Nathanos looked it hadn’t pushed him any closer towards winning the argument between the and the Dark Ranger Lord didn’t give him the chance to try again. Scrambling up the side of a lopsided lodge with deceptive ease and scanning the land below.

Resuming his Worgen form in order to avoid the climb the other man had just made, fully aware he wouldn’t crest it with the same grace and having no inclination to provide Nathanos with more ammunition to mock him with, Genn leapt up onto the roof as well. The pads on his paws silencing the sound of his weight hitting the old slate shingles.

A faint haze of plague clung tight to the ground in patches, creating thin green clouds which reflected the moonlight as a toxic sheen. Scattered throughout the area, seemingly abandoned, were a handful of catapults.

Across the stream which had been carved from the nearby river by the breaking land a chained Sentinel was visible.

“Bait.” Nathanos’ clawed fingers curled around the edge of the roof atop which they perched. “One of a handful of lures, no doubt. It’s certain they’re expecting us.”

“How many?”

Nathanos turned lamp like eyes onto Genn. “I’m well acquainted with Forsaken battle tactics, Greymane, not a _psychic_!” He rose to his full height and started down the roof’s waning slope. Leaping across the shallow chasm onto another. “We’ll have to find out the old-fashioned way. And I can think of no better way of doing so than taking a closer look.” He said. “Coming, mutt?”

Snarling again, Genn stalked after him.

For a long moment the only sounds between them were the gentle rippling of the water below, the pinging of their feet against the shingle and the ambience of night time as they made their way across the rooftops of the destroyed town. Coming to a stop just yards from the Elf they’d first seen.

Bedraggled and chained, stripped of her weapons but allowed to keep her armor intact, her violet hair hanging limp about her face. Nathanos perched like a gargoyle as he looked down on the scene with dispassion, balanced on his haunches.

“Go.” He said finally. “I’ll cover you.”

Genn’s head whipped around in alarm. “ _What?_ ”

“Go.” The Blightcaller repeated. Slower, now. Taking great care to annunciate each syllable. “I’ll cover you. If anything attempts to attack you while you free those poor captured Elves, I’ll shoot it dead where it stands. With all the prejudice that Warden asked for.”

“You expect me,” Genn snarled, “to trust you not to shoot me in the back? Or to ‘miss’ and allow me to be stabbed?”

A long, silent glare. “Fine, mutt. I’ll go down and unchain them and when something appears _you_ can do the shooting. If you’d rather.” He drawled. “I’m offended by the insinuation I’d waste the arrows. Now either get your matted hide down there or have the fact we left her here on your conscious. It doesn’t matter to me either way, seeing as mine’s been dead for years now.”

The Worgen growled again but reluctantly leapt down off the roof. Landing with a quiet thud in the sparse grass and creeping forward. Motioning to the half despondent Elf for silence as he set to work on the chains which bound her. Quickly locating the lock and jamming a claw into it in place of a key. Pressing down on the internal mechanisms until he heard the faint click of the lock unlatching. Followed almost immediately by the twang of a bowstring being released.

Genn turned in time to see the Forsaken the projectile had collided with collapse with a rasping groan.

Nathanos gazed down at him haughtily from his sniper’s perch and jerked his chin in the direction of the next nearest Elf. Pulling another arrow casually from the quiver on his back.

After taking just long enough to ensure the freed Night Elf was steady on her feet Genn moved on to the next nearest. Then the next. All repeating the same patterns of unlocking the mechanism with his claws and well-placed arrows downing the Forsaken whom attempted to stop him without signs of hesitance or mercy.

Their scouting operation, which had transformed into more of a rescue mission at this point, was put to end when a flash of magic from the west end of town rose above the rooftops.

“It would seem they met with a bit of trouble.” Nathanos said. “What say you, mutt? Shall we help them?”

Genn didn’t bother to answer, barreling towards the west on all fours leaving Nathanos to follow. He arrived to find the two Night Elves and a massive night Sabre-where the thing had come from he wasn’t certain he cared to know-cornered, or rather formerly cornered considering the number of Apothecaries currently scattered about like pawns on a chess board, by the Deathstalker Commander and his forces.

Night Saber against skeletal steed, Warden and Sentinel against Rogue. At their arrival it had appeared to be something of a stalemate but Genn didn’t spare a moment in leaping into the fray with a howl. Snapping his teeth around the neck of the nearest soldier to him. Belmonte spun around just in time to throw himself out of the path of Nathanos’ arrow, only narrowly retaining his footing.

“Traitor!” He accused; hazed eyes narrowed. “Go after the Priestess if you so desire. Her magic won’t stop us. The Horde will hold this land and the Dark Lady will have your head!”

The Rogue vanished in a puff of smoke, leaving his remaining forces to scramble madly in an effort to find their own escape. Genn seemed to contemplate-however briefly-tearing after them like a hound after a squirrel while Nathanos simply returned the arrow in his hand to his quiver. Rolling his shoulders back.

“Belmonte always was a coward.” He grunted. “Never met a Rogue who wasn’t. Did you find Tyrande or was that winged rat simply leading us on a pointless goose chase?”

“He led us to Ash’alah. Tyrande is discarding her possessions and distancing her companions so as not to risk them in the ascension ritual. Of that much I’m almost certain.” Maiev said. “The last thing she would need to preform the rite is a moonwell, and the nearest place she’d find one is Bashal’aran.”

“Then let us make haste.” Nathanos pushed between Genn and Shandris, his dark cloak rippling behind him. “I’d rather avoid any potential run ins with my former Queen.”

“Sylvanas.” Genn snarled low in his chest. “I hope she’s here. I didn’t quite get the chance I wanted to finish things in Stormheim.”

Nathanos had to school his features not to give himself away as they swiftly left Auberdine behind. Following the road, this time, they soon arrived in Bashal’aran.

Amid the trees and age worn stone of the ruins among which moonwell stood Tyrande’s pale attire seemed to glow like the moon. She approached the well with a pale stone in one hand and what looked like the head of an Orc in the other.

“Tyrande!” Genn’s voice attracted the Night Elf’s attention but didn’t stop her advance. Furious eyes soon landing on Nathanos.

“No! Do _not_ try to stop me!” She snapped. “The High King first refuses to help us and then insults my people further by dispatching an enemy as his hand! I do what must be done to put to end the Horde infestation which has taken root in this place! And the Blightcaller will be lucky it does not end him too!”

The High Priestess raised her voice and addressed her Goddess directly.

“Elune! Your people loved you! Yet you watched, distant and aloof, as they died in torment.” The white stone in her hand began to glow at the words with a blinding silver light. Some strange power lifting both it and the Priestess into the air. “I served you for millennia. But tonight, I don’t come as a maiden, mother or even priestess. Now, I will serve you only if you grant me justice!”

From down the path behind them came the rumble of chain bound wheels and thudding footsteps. As Nathanos turned his head Maiev called “the Horde approaches! Be ready!”

Not Forsaken but Orcs, this time. Hulking green skinned brutes in red, spike studded armor. Their small eyes and poorly chiseled features set into rictuses of aggression. Grinning savagely Nathanos pulled an arrow from his quiver and took aim. This. This was what he was good at! Just like old times. Enough to send a potent high of what might have been some distant relative of nostalgia, more vicious and blood thirsty, surging through his thickened blood.

The pressure of the taught bow string against his armored fingertips. The fight for accuracy; to ensure each arrow he fired found a deadly home in the chinks between the thick armor that they wore. The rush of familiar battle near enough to, for a few moments, put him back in the sun dappled forests of Quel’thalas.

Some detached part of him which yet remained grounded in logic, free of the ravening tug of the fight, was aware of Tyrande stepping forward into the water of the moonwell. Throwing the decapitated head into the pool before her.

“With ancient words I invoke your most ruthless phase. With this offering, I demand to wear your darkest face. Elune! Make me the instrument of your vengeance!”

“Blightcaller!” The Warden’s voice cut through the red haze of battle. Ducking the axe swing of the Orc in front of him and embedding his sword in its chest, Nathanos turned. Genn was clawing wildly at a pair of Orcs to his left. A bit further down the path Shandris was keeping pinning fire on reinforcements attempting to make their way to their position. The Warden herself was penned in by four Orcs and doing an admirable job of holding them at bay but it was clear he wouldn’t be moving any time soon. “Activate the Eye of Elune!”

‘The Eye of Elune’ was presumably the giant glowing hunk of rock floating in the air a few yards away. Nathanos eyed it warily.

“Activate the Eye to complete the ritual! _Do it!”_

Complete the ritual. Transform Tyrande, already a vicious harpy, into an unknown threat which could potentially pose a real problem for his Lady. Hesitate and give himself away. Fail Sylvanas for the first time and potentially lose them the war.

**_“Blightcaller!”_ **

_Damn it all!_ He lunged for the stone, snatching it out of the air. The moment his grip closed around it there was blinding white flash of force and harsh moonlight which sent him careening to the ground. The pressure of it forcing him prostrate against the grass. The magic in the air almost a physical force, sharp and painful as it loomed above him, making known that it could destroy him with ease, making known that it had found him wanting, but choosing for some reason beyond his comprehension not to reduce his body to ashes and smite his soul in lunar fire.

He next came aware curled against the earth, senses burning and hair on end. Barely daring to raise his head and look about him in the night still charged with the aftershocks of that power. Bodies, ablaze with pale fire, were strewn across the ground.

A pair of black starlight eyes watches his cautious rise onto his feet. “So, you survived? I’ll admit my disappointment.”  Tyrande said. “The Goddess, for whatever reason, has chosen to spare your evil so I shall tolerate your presence. For the time being. But now you, Blightcaller, will prove your loyalty to _me!”_ She gazed at him hawkishly as if daring him to protest. “Sylvanas has been sighted nearby with two of her Valkyr abominations. You shall accompany us to Lor’danel and will drive that Banshee out of Darkshore! Ash’alah!”

As Tyrande hauled herself up into the Night Saber’s saddle and Genn dropped down onto all fours Nathanos did his best to case off the shock which had stolen across him, looking up into the face of the darkened moon hanging overhead.


	11. Confrontation

His efforts to shake off the searing grip of the power Tyrande had called down had met with no success, the unseen fingers only tightening around his chest, and now Nathanos found himself once more trudging through the arcane darkness which had fallen over the area after the mounted Elven Priestess alongside the Worgen King and the older of the two Wardens who’d been with them. Where Feathermoon had gotten off to he wasn’t certain; she’d been with them when they’d left their newfound base at Bashal’aran but had since exited the prevue of his awareness.

He'd always known Tyrande to be a wicked sorceress but had never seen anything quite like the Ritual of Ascension of the Night Warrior. Clearly, she’d hoped that the invocation of her Goddess in his presence would lead to him being vaporized where he stood, something Nathanos suspected had come very close to being the case, and in the wake of it all the forest had been left…different. Unnatural. Nathanos couldn’t keep his eyes from pinioning around in search of unexpected threats. Hair raised along the back of his neck.

They were drawing ever closer to the beach with every step they took. The scent of sea growing stronger on the wind as they advanced towards that place. That place which was familiar to him, now. The place they’d stood to overlook the burning World Tree. Which had come to be known to the Horde as Delaryn’s Demise.

The prickling along his skin alerted him to her presence before they stepped out of the tree line and into sight. Nathanos making a point of digging in his heels and pulling up short. Sylvanas, flanked to either side by winged Valkyr with the other Warden’s crumpled body lying at her feet.

“Sira!”

“Ah, I’d begun to wonder where you’d gotten off to Blightcaller.” Her red eyes gouged into him, ignoring the other’s completely despite Maiev’s shout. Even aware that his betrayal was merely a result of her orders Nathanos couldn’t help but quail. “When Lyana first came to me with news of your disloyalty I hadn’t wanted to believe it but it would seem her words were true. My dear Champion has run away to Wrynn.”

“ ** _Banshee Queen!_** ” Tyrande was clearly displeased at being ignored. “We shall tolerate your presence in these lands no longer!”

Sylvanas paid the outburst no mind, still staring at Nathanos. “I’ve always been known to make exceptions for you, Nathan. Now need not be different. You’ll have a chance to redeem yourself, to regain your rank and my trust with time, if you return to my side. Now.”

“And if I do not,” Nathanos drawled, “my Lady?”

“You know what happens to traitors, Blightcaller. You used to be the one I sent to hunt them down.” She snapped. “Come back to me. This is your only chance.”

A charged moment in which Nathanos stared at her. The recognition of the choreographed dance about to take place passing unspoken between them. The other three were all staring at him now, weapons drawn, the Worgen snarling, and it was clear that they expected his betrayal. Were waiting for him to turn on them and pounce.

Pity they’d be disappointed. “No.”

A beat of almost uncomprehending silence in the wake of his refusal before Sylvanas hissed a sibilant “no?”

“No.” He repeated, injecting all the force he could. “I will never return to the Forsaken. To you. I’ve served my time as a mindless pawn. Never again! I will be free of you!”

“Free of me?” she spat, her ears pinning back. The expression on her face driving a dull blade into his long unbeating heart. “You’ll take your ‘freedom’ with you to your second death! Brynja, take care of those Night Elves and Greymane! Signe, finish with raising these Elves! I’ll see to it that the Blightcaller pays for his transgression!”

Tyrande didn’t seem at all pleased at being passed off but the Valkyr which flew at them didn’t leave them much choice. Maiev ducked around Brynja, going for the other Valkyr, but he didn’t see what happened next.

Sylvanas lunged at him, her blade coming without a hair’s breadth of his face as it collided with his own. The force of the blow leveraging impressive strain against his stance, pushing down on muscles which hadn’t felt any real strain in years: not since before he’d died. The sand giving way beneath his feet and almost toppling him. He pushed back. At last managing to fling her away. Pulling down his bow and firing, refusing to give her the chance to close that distance again. Purposefully shooting near, but not at her. Expecting she would do the same. Realizing, only at the last moment when it was almost too late, that she was still shooting to kill.

The collision of the Black Arrow flung him backwards into the trees.

“ ** _Blightcaller!”_**

“By the Goddess, she’s killed him!”

“What of it?” The other two stared at Tyrande in shock. “Leave him! Bring that Valkyr down and _stop her!_ ”

“Too late, Alliance.” Sylvanas stowed her bow away as the Valkyr magic finished. The fallen Warden and Sentinel riding from the sand with glowing red eyes as a trio of riding bats circled down from the sky. “They’ve joined the ranks of my Forsaken. And by the time this war is over, so will you.”

“No! You won’t get away!” The darkness Tyrande called down was so complete and blinding that the pillar of moonlight which split it caused physical pain. The Valkyr, struck from the sky with a screech, fell to the sand. The other was swift to retreat, launching herself into the air in a flurry of spectral feathers.

“You won’t get away with that, Night Elf!” Sylvanas pulled herself up onto the back of her bat and prodded it off the sand. “Let’s move!”

They were out of reach before anything could be done, and left impotent to do otherwise Tyrande simply glared after them.

“Tyrande!” A voice from the tree line. They turned to see the Arch Druid coming towards them.

“Malfurion!”

“We need to leave. To bolster our fortifications here and prepare for war.” His white eyes scanned the beach where they stood, moving from the fallen Valkyr to the near distant oil platform-plainly of Goblin make-which Sylvanas had retreated to. “There’s a large Horde force moving on our position.”

“We can’t just abandon the Blightcaller.” Maiev said.

The other two Night Elves leveled her in cold looks. Genn shifted in discomfort. “He took a direct arrow from Sylvanas. He’s dead, properly this time. Leave him rot like he should have years ago.”

“We can’t know that for certain.”

The Worgen’s ears lay back. “She’s right.” He said. “We have to at least confirm it.”

Though still reluctant Tyrande seemed to acquiesce and the little group moved together towards the tree line. A trail of ichor-blood congealed and tainted almost black with dark magic-had been smeared across the grass, leading further into the darkness. The Blightcaller, like a wounded animal, had managed to drag himself away.

Though he hadn’t made it far.

Wracked with pain and confusion Nathanos had curled himself against the slopping roots of one of the massive trees. Using his weight and the wood behind him to make his nearly severe arm appear as if it wasn’t being held on only be a few ribbons of tattered flesh. She’d shot him. Not near him but directly at him. Would have killed him where he stood if he hadn’t managed to react at just the last moment.

Nathanos knew that he was no more to her, now, than a tool their past aside. Knew that he was worthy of nothing more than to be used. But to be so suddenly confronted by it, with no warning, left something raw in him. A thorn that felt almost like…betrayal.

Would it have felt that way before he’d been sent on this mission? Before he’d been exposed, at length, to Wrynn and the saccharine virtue which oozed from every pour of him like some sort of toxic radiation. The mere thought of even harboring this question made that star of hatred that he felt for the Priest burn even brighter.

He glared at them from his huddled place among the roots as if he wasn’t in a position of utter weakness, defenseless with one arm hanging off-useless at his side-and in real danger of exsanguinating the dark magic which kept his soul and body imperfectly bound. Pain, more acute than he’d felt since he’d last been breathing, burning like a brand against the open flesh.

Nathanos recoiled with a snarl when Malfurion stepped forward. “Keep away, Druid! Your savage magics will only make things worse!”

“What will work to heal you, Blightcaller?” Genn growled at him, looking sickened at the prospect of even having to ask. “You’re useless with only one arm and we can’t afford to drag around dead weight.”

“Cute.” The Dark Ranger growled, using his feet and the sturdy trunk behind him to push himself up onto his feet. Forcing the wracking fatigue, the way his body quaked and the fact that it was no doubt fully visible to his onlookers, out of his mind. “Unless you’ve a Shadow Priest on call or have taken captive a Necrosurgeon and not informed me, no. There isn’t. But I’ve had worse than this, mutt; not too long ago I could pop my limbs on and off at will!” Nathanos began to hobble stubbornly back towards Bashal’aran. “I’ll patch myself up. But I’ll need sturdy thread to do it. Something capable of not only holding the arm on but of staunching the bleeding. Send one of your ‘heroes’ to collect it, or get it yourself; I, unfortunately, I’m unable to do battle for it at current.”

“And where, exactly, do you expect us to be able to find ‘sturdy thread’?” Genn snapped.

Despite his exhaustion, Nathanos stopped. Head spinning. Tilting almost drunkenly from heel to toe and back again. Holding his severed arm on with one hand. “That Abomination came from Gloomtide Strand.”

The Worgen King grumbled in annoyance, dropping down onto all fours.  “I’ll send someone.” He informed them, ears lain back. “As much as I hate to admit it, we need his fire power to ease the way of reclaiming this place in good time. We can’t afford Anduin’s plans for Dazar’alor to lose momentum.”

Tyrande made a disgusted noise and turned away from the dark smear of blood left against the earth. Genn left the other three behind and traveled back to meet their forces as they trickled into the area.

A few of the tents which had been standing at their former encampment in Ashenvale had since been erected among the ruins of Bashal’aran. Had he been pressed on the matter Genn would likely have been able to find the wounded Dark Ranger huddled inside of one of them had he really tried to look but he didn’t. Making his way over to the other Worgen.

“Greymane.” Lorna said, drawing the attention of the others. Tess among them. “We saw the Blightcaller return a few minutes before you. He looked like he was bleeding. Did something happen?”

“Sylvanas.” The Banshee Queen’s name alone was enough to make the other Worgen snarl. “The Banshee Queen came with her Valkyr pets to raise the fallen Night Elves. Killed one of the Wardens who were with us. They fought and she shot him. It would appear the wound is serious and we don’t have the sort of healers necessary to treat him.”

“What will we do, then?” Ivar growled. “Given the chance I’d love nothing more than to rip the Blightcaller limb from limb but at the moment his skill is too valuable to leave him lain up.”

“He claims to be able to patch himself up if the thread his provided with is sturdy enough.” Genn’s tone was laced in disgust. “Apparently, precisely that sort of thread can be found at Gloomtide Strand.”

“And someone needs to go get it.” Lorna sounded resigned.

“I’ll do it.” Tess volunteered.

All three spun around to look at her. “What?”

“I’ll go.” The Princess repeated. “To Gloomtide. To find that thread so he can put himself back together; be able to help our cause again.”

“Tess, no. It’s too dangerous!” Genn said.

His daughter leveled him in an unimpressed look, only a few levels toned down from Nathanos’ own usual expression. “Even being here is ‘dangerous’ father. It’s a war. And it’s hardly the first time I’ve been in one; I was a Shadowblade during the Burning Legion’s invasion after all.”

“Yes. The Uncrowned.” The King grumbled. “Don’t remind me.”

“Think about it, father. As a rogue I’d be best suited out of all of us here, except maybe Ivar, to do the job. I can slip in, steal the thread and slip out again without even revealing I was ever there.” She said. “They’ll never have to know.”

Genn still didn’t look convinced.

Tess sighed. “I’m not a child anymore, father. Please.”

The Gilnean King huffed. “Very well. But Ivar goes with you.” The other Worgen grumbled a complaint but was quickly silence with a glare. “Return quickly. Not only for the sake of my sanity but because, when I last saw him, Blightcaller looked more dead than usual.”

“Thank you.” Tess said. “I’ll set out right away.”

The Gilnean Princess paused only long enough to send Lorna what she hoped was a look of reassurance before heading towards the makeshift griffon pen with the Bloodfang pack leader trotting behind.

Lorna’s black griffon, Donovan, threw her a cursory glance before going back to the water pail in front of him. Her own mount, Eos, trotted up to her with an inquisitive trill and happily accepted the saddle she moved to put on him. Ivar found his way to the first hippogriff which could be convinced to have him and the pair started up into the dark sky. Rising up above the tree line, heading west towards Gloomtide Strand.

Tess directed Eos back onto the grass just before the tree line came to an end, providing them a good view of the instantly recognizable violet tents and twisted flags typical of a Forsaken outpost. Deathguards in dark armor and a small handful of Abominations patrolled the area. Tess looked over the encampment before them and quickly located the largest tent and creeping forward. Keeping low to the ground and well into the shadows. Aware, if only vaguely, of Ivar’s presence not far behind her.

Reaching the tent, she poked her head around the opening to peer inside. Expectedly, the interior was dark. Thick with the stench of rotting flesh and embalming fluid. A number of tables, blood stained and strewn with an array of what Tess could only describe as meat, occupied the little space. A lone Apothecary, clad in a tatty robe with one arm completely skeletonized, stood at the very back of the tent fiddling with something on a work bench, humming tonelessly all the while.

Cautiously, holding back the urge to gag and leaving Ivar at the entrance clutching his nose, Tess edged further into the tent. Towards the spool of thick thread, and attached needle, which rested on the workbench beside the Apothecary. Within arm’s reach, to be exact. The Gilnean Princess could only hope desperately that she’d manage to nick it without drawing notice.

Reaching the table, crouched beside the corner using the leg as something of a shield, Tess reached up to grab the thread. Feeling blindly around in hopes of snagging what she was after only to recoil with a barely contained grasp when bony fingers made contact. Thanking the Light wildly, in her head, that the skeletal fingers lacked the ability to feel.

As the Apothecary turned away to collect something from the other side of the tent Tess hurriedly reached up and seized the needle and thread before bolting back out into the night. Ivar followed without a word, practically radiating relief at having put distance between them and that horrible stench.

As they mounted up and took off again all Tess could think was _I hope this threat will work for him_ because the thought of going back in their again…

The Bloodfang Alpha disappeared with an impressive sped when they made it back to Bashal’aran, leaving Tess to free both Eos and the hippogriff from their saddles.

“You got it, then?” Lorna’s voice from the side of the pen made her jump. Tess turned to meet the brown eyes of her girlfriend, absent the usual rose in her hair. “You’ll be delivering that to your father, then?”

“To my father?” Tess repeated, swinging herself easily over the low-slung fence. “Why would I? Like he said, Nathanos is badly wounded and doesn’t look well. There’s no point in an additional step when I can deliver it myself.”

“Deliver it yourself?” Lorna repeated. “Are you mad, Tess?”

The Gilnean Princess raised an eyebrow.

“Why are you so interested in interacting with him?” she asked, expression etched with-in Tess’ mind unreasonable-concern. “The brief encounter with the Banshee Queen’s Champion I had when he hunted me down in Gilneas-though he didn’t look like this back then-and the handful of near run ins in Stormheim were more than enough for me to know I don’t want you anywhere near him.”

“Anduin trusts him.”

“The High King trusts a lot of people that he arguably shouldn’t.” Lorna shot back. “Nathanos Blightcaller may be ‘on our side’ for the time being, if only because he believes its advantageous to him, but a wild beast doesn’t change its nature. He’ll turn on us again the moment that it suits him to.”

“Wild beasts?” Tess repeated, starting towards the ever-multiplying row of tents. “I remember when we used to call the Worgen that.”

“Tess!” Lorna huffed and hurried after her reluctantly, black hair tumbling down her back. “If I can’t convince you better of delivering that to him then at least don’t go alone. As surely as the Dark Lady, the Blightcaller is a monster!”

“Are we really any better if we don’t even give him the benefit of the doubt?” she asked. “Think of things this way if it will make you feel a margin better about this: he’s not prone to charity but perhaps, having had something done for him, he’ll be more inclined to return the favor in kind when we need it.”

“’More inclined’ isn’t a guarantee.” Lorna said.

“No,” Tess agreed, “but it’s better than nothing.”

They’d reached the tent, now. The one out of the entire lot most likely to contain the wounded Dark Ranger, judging by the wide berth it was being paid by everyone around and appeared to have a dark smear across the outer flap.

Again, Lorna seemed to hesitate while Tess simply pushed the flap aside and stepped in. The first thing that registered was the powerful smell of blood, tinted sweet with rot and something unplaceable. The Blightcaller was hunched in the corner, armor discarded beside his bow and quiver on a nearby table, revealing the death blued skin of his scared back and his nearly separated arm.

Attracted by the sound of their entrance, or perhaps by Lorna’s gasp, Nathanos turned his head. Against the glowing red of his eyes the dark, almost brown color of his blood-a color she’d previously only associated with blood when it was dry-all the more striking.

“I found some thread at Gloomtide.” Tess held up said thread for examination. There was a sluggish quality to the way his eyes focused on it. “Will this work?”

The Blightcaller gazed at them in a punch-drunk manner, teetering where he sat on the edge of a table. His group on his wounded arm spasming, blood welling up between his fingers.

“Oh Light, you don’t look good.” He growled at her as she approached but Tess didn’t stop. Well used to snarling after so much contact with the Worgen. Even bared teeth didn’t stop her, though Lorna tried to hold her back.

“Tess, are you mad?” she hissed. “Come back!”

But Tess ignored her and came to a stop within arm’s reach of the snarling undead, the growl in his throat never stopping. The fingers on the severed arm flexing spasmodically, the taloned gauntlet catching the faint light.

“I’m sure you’d say otherwise but it doesn’t look to me like you’re going to be able to sew that back on by yourself.” Tess refused to wilt beneath his withering glare. “I’m no healer and I don’t make a habit of sewing but I can probably do a better job than you can one handed.”

The glare didn’t stop but the growling did. Whether that signaled consent or the fact that he’d now lost so much blood he couldn’t think straight anymore Tess didn’t know. Quickly unwinding the thick thread and resting a hand on the cold flesh of his upper chest. Forcing her focus onto the massive wound in front of her rather than the scar left behind, lower on his chest, from what she suspected was the blow that had taken his life.

Nathanos hissed when the curved needle broke his skin and showed his teeth again but didn’t recoil. With Lorna hovering being her, Tess worked quickly to pull the open flesh back together; the stiches far from neat but they would work for the purpose they needed to. At least, that was what Tess hoped.

The bleeding had stopped.

The Blightcaller immediately pulled away from her, reaching up his good hand and seizing the needle still dangling from the thread now binding his arm to the rest of his body. Pulling it off with the pop of snapping fibers. Grumbling something which was probably meant to pass as thanks-then again it could just as easily have been an insult in Gutterspeak-he redonned his armor, grabbed his bow and stalked out of the tent.

“Well,” Tess said, turning to Lorna, “that went well.”

The former Commander of the Gilneas Liberation Front was staring at Tess’ hands in disgust. “You should wash your hands after you handle something dead.”

There was a bit of blood smeared along the side of her hand. Rolling her eyes, Tess picked up a nearby piece of cloth.


	12. Night Moves

“I’m not going anywhere.”

It had been three days since their disastrous encounter with Sylvanas at Delaryn’s Demise and during that time the Night Elven forces, which had since christened themselves the ‘Army of the Black Moon’, had launched a series of small campaigns which had successfully clawed more ground free of the Horde’s grip. He’d been away through it all, kept…busy by the pursuit of a swift recovery through means only available to the Undead-and which he’d much prefer not be observed-and now, still weaker than he’d have preferred but no longer in danger of collapse, Nathanos had returned to Bashal’aran only to be confronted by the laughable suggestion that he _return to Stormwind._

The Worgen leveled him in an unconvinced golden gaze. “You’re wounded. Badly. You’ve been gone for days and don’t look well-.”

“ _I’m fine,_ Greymane.” He snapped, more viciously this time. “Where I’m sure the living would be much more severely affected by such an injury the Undead are a great deal more relentless. We’ve taken bites out of their held ground and now stand on the cusp of the confrontation which will push them out. I was dispatched here by your King to see to it that territory is retaken and I will _not_ be leaving before I see it done! Disappointed as I’m sure you’ll be to hear this, mutt, I’ll live.”

Though that came as something of a mild surprise, considering the nature of the hellish looks Tyrande had taken to shooting him since his return. If not for the fact that, from the look of how things currently stood, Darkshore would be fully reclaimed by dawn-once they’d gotten passed the two giant Azermechs blocking the way to Lor’danel and destroyed the Goblin oil rig floating just off shore-the Dark Ranger Lord might actually have been concerned the High Priestess would take the task of offing him into her own hands.

The Worgen King pulled his lips back over sharp teeth and black gums, growling low under his breath. “Fine, then. Have things your way.” He turned to walk away. “When your state catches up with you, Blightcaller, there’ll be not the slightest trace of sympathy from me.”

“Shove your sympathy!” Nathanos snapped, stalking in the opposite direction. “The dead have no use for your sentiment!”

The various Night Elves and Worgen scattered throughout the premises paid him only enough mind to scatter from his path like rabbits before a wolf. The only exception to this was the Night Elf he was looking for: Jarod Shadowsong, the Commander of the contingent which had successfully taken Ashwood Depot the night before and brother of the annoying Warden that hadn’t quite managed to get herself killed. The man turned dispassionate white eyes on him.

“Blightcaller.” He said. “I’d begun to think you’d crawled off and died, even in spite of your treatment.”

Nathanos showed his teeth in an unfriendly grimace, eyes flashing. “My recovery took longer than I’d have liked.” He said. “But I’m ready to be fielded wherever your army has the need.”

“Good. We’ve a use for you. Consider it a chance to make good on being allowed to darken our doorstep.” Jarod pointed to the North. “A Ranger like you would be more than capable of scouting the area for yourself I don’t doubt. Unfortunately, at the moment there isn’t time. All you need know is we intend to finish our reclamation by dawn and that the forces who will take back Lor’danel and break the last of the Horde’s hold on this place have already gathered at Ashwood Depot under my sister’s lead. Join them.”

Back on the front lines, then? That was fine with him. It was never a bad thing to be provided with an outlet that was able to bleed. Surely his Queen wouldn’t still be in the area; by now, she’d have returned to Dazar’alor or Orgrimmar and taken Signe with her.

Nathanos didn’t want to face her again. Didn’t want to risk another of her Valkyr would fall when only three remained, the exact number needed to revive her should she fall. Didn’t want to find himself at the point of her arrow for a second time.

She’d shot him. _Shot him_ , not shot near him. Hadn’t even tried to ensure that the inflicted harm would be minimal. Had simply risked, without thought, his death. The message was clear: he, like everyone else who served, was ultimately disposable. An arrow to be broken against her foes and cast aside. Forgotten in the dirt.

Anya had suggested, after he was restored, returned to his former strength at the cost of the blood of the last living member of his family, one of the very people he’d died in a futile effort to protect, that he’d meant something more to her. That their love, or lust perhaps, had somehow, in some form, survived.

Laughable.

No. Sylvanas didn’t care for him or any other. Not now, if she ever had. Unlike that simpering gilded idiot who sat on Stormwind’s throne. Who’d blush like a harlot whenever he entered the room and would look at him with the same smitten adoration he himself had always directed towards the Dark Lady but had never been on the receiving end of.

Viciously shaking such notions free Nathanos stepped towards the mount pen where Bloodwing was being held. “I’ll set out immediately.” He said. “Wouldn’t want to miss the battle, now would I?”

Shadowsong had no response and the Blightcaller leapt the fence surrounding the pen the same way he’d once leapt the fence surrounding the paddock where the sheep would roam on the family plot.

Damn the tide of memories which rushed upon him, then. The deep running, satisfying ache of muscles tired by a day of hard work. The heat of the sun against the bare skin of his back. The sting of sweat dripping down into his eyes, brown back then rather than the hellish red they sported now. But it was the memory of the scent which came the strongest: of fresh grass, of wild flowers, of summer baked earth.

Of home.

‘Home’ didn’t exist anymore. Not for him. Both the Marris Stead and the Under City were gone.

Bloodwing eyes his approach and chittered indignantly, annoyed at the conditions it was being kept in. Nathanos, as had long ago become the norm, ignored its protests and swung himself up onto its back. Coaxing the bat up into the air and pulling the reigns around towards his ordered destination.

Ashwood Depot was a settlement not original to the area and plainly of Horde make, from the towering metal walls to the hardened asphalt which covered the earth, and the Night Elves in the area would gaze around at it all in offended disgust at random intervals. Had he not been otherwise occupied at the time Nathanos may well have joined them; the Goblins were known for crude coin mongering and shoddy inventions, not much else, but this was some of their worst work yet and it was utterly horrifying.

Simply because a place was meant to be mostly staffed by a contingent of men and women who hadn’t quite met the mark when it came to staying dead didn’t make a liability to collapse if incorrectly _breathed on_ in any way acceptable!

Leaving his mount to care for itself as all the thing ever seemed to do otherwise was complain, the Dark Ranger Lord made his way across the depot-heavy boots pinging off the metallic ground-headed towards where a portion of the Army of the Black Moon had grouped around Tyrande, Malfurion and Maiev. The Arch Druid was speaking in an effort to inspire his forces. To reassure them that their victory was absolute when such was absolutely not the case. Nathanos waited until he’d come well within ear shot to make his presence known with a bitter scoff. Ignoring the painful twinging of his shoulder.

“Bold words from a man who abandoned the world to take a thousand-year nap.”

Multiple pairs of glowing white eyes and one pair of black eyes turned on him as he trotted to a stop.

“Blightcaller,” the High Priestess drawled, “you’ve returned.”

“Don’t sound so disappointed, Whisperwind. There are bigger things, at the moment, for you to be concerned with than me.” He’d have loved nothing more than to pull down his bow and strike down the both of them, the Warden as well, for daring to leave his Lady in danger by depriving her of one of her few remaining Valkyr before they could fulfil their pact, but he restrained himself. Ignoring the way his fingertips itched. “Simply distribute my marching orders and I’ll be on my way.”

Realizing that both of the Night Elven leaders were far too busy glaring at him to do so themselves Maiev sighed. “You’ll aid the Sentinels in cutting their fortifications off around Lor’danel. We believe that to be the best means of utilizing the particular skill set of a High Elf trained Ranger.”

“So, I’m answering to Feathermoon, then?”

The Warden nodded. “Yes.”

Nathanos didn’t waste a moment’s time in turning away. “That’s all I need to know.” If the Warden attempted to call him back, he didn’t pay her any mind. Leaving the larger force of Night Elves behind he made his way out of the Depot and along the faint Night saber tracks left imprinted in the dirt he soon caught up with the Sentinels, most of whom seemed to be barely resisting the urge to scatter like frightened sheep at the sight of him. “I’ve been told to report here for my orders.”

“Blightcaller,” the Sentinel General stepped forward, “you’ve recovered.”

“Enough.” He grunted. “But I’m not here for pleasantries. Kindly point me on my way so I can see this battle done with and get back to making certain your idiot King doesn’t get himself, or more importantly _me_ , killed by doing something stupid!”

Feathermoon sighed, appearing as if her patience were being severely tested. Good. If he wasn’t making the tree rats-well, more like ground squirrels now-uncomfortable than he wasn’t doing his job. “Our job is to prevent the Horde from bringing in reinforcements to ensure that the bulk of our forces aren’t caught in a vice. Beyond that, we’re not to interfere unless absolutely necessary.” She said. “There’s no need to remain in close quarters but keep in contact.”

In other words, keep well away from us. Duly noted and gladly followed. Sparing just enough time to direct a vaguely affirmative grunt in her direction Nathanos trudged off into the forest.

Shadow Stride wasn’t quite as affective as the Forest Stride he’d formerly been capable of in life, the cold tendrils of magic and hissing voices of the creatures that lurked just beyond the edge of reality pursuing his steps where once there’d been bird song and the warm touch of nature; awareness of every insect, plant and animal in the glade through which he was traveling; the very pinnacle of what it meant to be a Hunter.

Why was he thinking of such things now when there were things of far greater import with which to concern himself. Nathanos attempted to dislodge those memories only to discover them more tenacious than usual. Unable to leave them lying in the dirt as he otherwise would have, he resorted to retreating into the darkest corners of his mind and hiding there. Behind the pain of his wound and the mindless bloodthirst of the curse that he’d been forced to bare. The autopilot drive to kill.

Like that, he lost himself to the hunt. Moving by instinct, sparing only enough thought to his actions to differentiate between foe and ally of circumstance. Surrendering to the brand of Hound that he’d borne for so long now he no longer remembered what it was like to live without it. Scent. Stalk. Slaughter. A pattern which pulled him down like viscous quick sand.

Track along the curve of the roads. Crouch in the bushes. Drop from the trees. Hissing arrows. Blooded blades. Bones snapping beneath his fingers. A Blood Elf lying at his feet. An Orc. That monster inside him, that hunger indulged in his search for swift recovery, flaring up again. Making his teeth ache. His mouth salivate.

Leaving the felled cadre behind he fled into the forest. Chased by a wraith with the voice of a child, recollection in its talons instead of a sword. Stephon, perched on a fence post with a glossy red apple clutched in his hands, meant for the horses kept down by the shallow creek skirting their property which fed into the Throndroril River and his eyes bright. Waiting for him to ride by on his return to Quel’thalas. “You’ll teach me to hunt, won’t you Nathanos? When you come back.”

He hadn’t come back. Not until the day it had all fallen apart. When this hell had started; an existence he’d have preferred ended but continued to suffer through at the behest of his Queen.

A sharp shout, followed by the blue-yellow flash of an Azerite explosion ripped him from his stupor. Somehow his feet had carried him through the dark trees to the edge of Lor’danel; the bench beside the plagued town over run with Goblins and Forsaken, guarded by the hulking metal forms of two towering mechs which were keeping the Army of the Black Moon captive under pinning fire. The damned fools kept attempting to rush the position only to be blasted where they stood. It was immediately clear no progress was going to be made.

Someone had to change the tide or the battle would be lost.

Growling under his breath Nathanos shrugged his bow up onto his shoulders and leapt up to grab the branch above him. Pulling himself up onto it and then leaping over onto another. Building up speed before finally flinging himself out across the open ground and onto the first of the Azermech’s. Landing with the ping of mail boots on metal and catching hold of the grating covering the pilot’s compartment to keep from falling off despite the efforts of the Goblin inside t shake him off. Hearing the grinding sound of turning gears as the other Azermech turned towards them and the metallic drone of the gun on its arm firing up.

At the last possible moment, just as the blue-gold flash went off, Nathanos flung himself up and backwards. Flipping over the Azerite fire, feeling the heat of it sear against his face, and landing atop the other. Catching his balance with ease and bringing his foot down until the thick glass cracked, the sound lost beneath the explosion of the first Azermech. Aiming a Black Arrow through the small opening left behind, the Goblin trapped inside only having the time to look up at him in fear.

 The Dark Ranger Lord landed lightly on the sand below, sparing the glaring Worgen King a brief smirk before lunging into the renewed fray. The Night Elves, the way before them now clear, surged forwards, the Worgen baying like hunting hounds behind, and with the massive robots dispatched the Horde were left unprepared and the beach was quickly seized. The bat riders dispatched from the oil platform putting up little resistance in the face of their assault, the vast majority plummeting out of the sky amid a hail of arrows from Nathanos and the Sentinels under Shandris’ Commands.

They’d successfully sunk the two support boats flanking the platform making use of the Goblin munitions which had been left lying around by the time the Hippogriffs arrived. Glaring at the thing all the while the Blightcaller reluctantly joined the rest of the mounting up and winging out across the water.

Awaiting them, stood alone atop the platform, was the Dark Warden. Sira Moonwarden glared at them with her glowing red eyes as they approached.

“Sira!” Maiev skidded to a stop at the top of the steps. “What are you doing? How could you abandon us like this? Side with the Horde?”

“ _Abandon_ you?” the Dark Warden hissed. “Abandon you? I died following your orders! You abandoned me!”

“I did not abandon you, sister, but I will accept the fault for your death. And atone for it by releasing you from your torment!” Maiev said. “Att-!”

“ ** _Wait!_** ” All eyes, white red and otherwise, turned on Nathanos as he stepped forward. Bow down and aimed but kept low.

“Wait?” The Warden spat.

“What do _you_ want,” the Dark Warden snarled, “traitor? The only place we have in this world is with the Forsaken. With her. And you’ve run to Wrynn.”

“He’s a witless dolt, that much I won’t deny. But unlike his father Anduin Wrynn doesn’t simply see a monster when he’s confronted with one of the Undead. If he could find mercy for me than there’s nothing in question for you.” Genn was staring at him as if he’d sprouted another head. Nathanos ignored him.

“You think my people would ever accept me back! Not after this!”

“Perish your people, Warden! Think of yourself. You’ve no more prospects within the Forsaken than you would within the Scourge! But at least the Lich King wouldn’t lie to you.”

“The Forsaken have free will!”

“And Elune cared!” Nathanos snapped, taking another step forward and extending a hand. The talons on his gauntlets reflecting the flickering light of the burning ships astride the platform. “You don’t have to do this.”

The Night Elf’s helm hid her face but he could tell, from her posture, that she was surprised by his words. By his actions. Of the many things Nathanos was known for, diplomacy wasn’t one of them. Her red eyes flickered from his hand to his face and then back again. Then reached out.

An arrow crashed against her armored shoulder, making the Dark Warden stumble back, and Nathanos spun around. Tyrande stood with her bow drawn and aimed, her green hair falling loose behind her and her black eyes hard as coal.

“ ** _Are you mad, Whisperwind?”_** he roared.

“Anduin may tolerate the presence of _your kind_ in his forces, but we will not! I will not stand by and allow such an abomination to exist!” Tyrande snapped. “Maiev!”

The Warden hesitated, staring at her leader in alarm. “I-.”

“ ** _Maiev!”_**

He could read the hesitance in her posture but none of it carried through in her voice when she called “attack!” for the second time. Any reasoning with Sira was lost at that point, though he knew from the wild way she fought-desperate, not assured-that she knew there was no hope of winning. Tyrande rushed into the fray behind the line of Night Elf warriors, Commander and once subordinate clashing glaives, and Nathanos stood back and watched. Not even bothering to lift his bow. Genn looked on in what appeared to be shock.

Shaking his head, already aware of the battle’s tilt, the Dark Ranger Lord turned away. “The Horde has been routed. Darkshore once more belongs to the Alliance. I’m going back to Stormwind.” He said. “Inform the ‘High Priestess’ that her conduct will be included in my report to the King.”

Returning to Ashwood Depot alone on the back of one of those feathered beasts Nathanos called Bloodwing to him and made the rest of the journey to Bashal’aran. Quickly locating a Mage among the skeleton force left behind which was all too happy to provide him with a portal back if only to get him out of their hair.

The Mage Tower looked no different than it had those few days ago when he’d left it, only absent both the King and the Elf. Ignoring the ebb and flow of travelers which scattered before him Nathanos made his way out of the tower and towards the Keep. Abandoning Bloodwing to find its own way back to the aerie and sweeping inside.

The guards stood astride the throne room sent him suspicious glances but made no move to impede him and Nathanos paid them no mind. Sunlight streamed into the cavernous room through the numerous windows set high up on the stone wall, illuminating the entire space in a soft golden glow. Anduin looked seraphic as his sat on his throne, clad as usual in his blue and golden court clothing with his long hair neatly arranged down his back and his eyes a shadow of lapis over dark circles. The man-Nathanos presumed he was a noble of some manner though one he hadn’t seen before, whom at the time seemed to have been addressing the King at the time stood ramrod straight, shaking slightly and refusing to look at him, but Nathanos didn’t even bother to pay him any mind. His attention immediately centering in on his hound, who had practically melted across Anduin’s lap beneath the Priest’s hand and now sported a ribbon around her neck.

A pink ribbon. With a skull shaped name tag on it labeled ‘Boots’.

The Dark Ranger Lord felt one of the small muscles in his face begin to twitch but forced himself not to comment on it. He knew a lost cause when he saw one, no matter how much it irked him, and had no doubt that the blonde would likely justify what he’d done by saying ‘I promised not to play fetch with her or dress her up in knitted sweaters but you never said anything about ribbons’ or something else equally stupid.

“Blightcaller.” Already the King’s pale face had begun a steady transition towards pink. “You’ve returned safely. I’m glad; it’s certainly taken a load off my mind.” He said. “You’ve news?”

“The Night Elves have retaken their land from Horde hands, my Liege, though you should be made aware that Tyrande is more rabid than ever.” He said. “Using some sort of pagan ritual, she called down her supposed Goddess and transformed herself into a black eyed moon fiend, then proceeded to repeatedly wish me dead. When one of her Wardens was killed and raised into undeath by the   
Dark Lady I tried to talk her down, convince her better of believing in Sylvanas’ lies, and would have succeeded had the ‘High Priestess’ not decided she wouldn’t follow your example in ‘tolerating my kind’. If I might suggest caution?”

Anduin’s gilt brows drew together. “I’ve no reason to doubt what you’ve told me, Nathanos, and if that is the case it calls for concern.” He said. “I’ll let my guards know not to allow her in at whim.”

Nathanos made a noncommittal sound, glaring at the casual way the young King scratched behind the Plague hound’s ears. After a brief moment’s thought Anduin scooped up the puppy and rose from his throne. “Thank you, Lord Hewell, that will be all. I’ll see what I’m able to do for you. You may go.”

With a mumbled “King Wrynn” the man swiftly made himself scarce.

Anduin’s blue eyes fell on him again. “My courtly duties are done for the day and we’ve still a bit of time left before nightfall. Up for those ‘private lessons’?”

Nathanos stared at him for a long moment, the way the young King’s voice had dropped at the tail end of that sentence-as if he didn’t want his guards to hear the suggestion in those words-wasn’t lost on him. Seemed the little lion was finally willing to play his game. “Certainly, my King.” He said. “Have you somewhere ‘private’ in mind?”

“I do.” Already the King’s eyes had begun to darken, that faint color creeping down his neck. “If you’d give me a moment to change into my riding clothes, I’ll meet you in the stables.”

 


	13. Cabin in the Woods

Nathanos was not disappointed when the Priest walked in through the door of the royal stables dressed once again in those delectably tight leathers. He seemed more self-conscious than the last time, perhaps due to the fact he was more aware of what he had on; that it wasn’t simply a byproduct of riding but rather a purposeful effort to garner the same response of interest that he had before. The horses, the ‘private lessons’ were simply a pretense.

At long last they’d really begin to play the game Nathanos had been pushing to start since he’d arrived, which Anduin had been resisting out of embarrassment and no doubt something moralistic, and now this entire farce would really become interesting.

The thought that the sudden change in the blonde Priest’s conviction was odd was somewhat odd briefly crossed his mind but dissipated quickly from his awareness. Wrynn was young, red blooded and suppressed. Of course it would only take a little bit of pressure over a short period for him to break.

The lion had stepped into the trap that he’d laid out for him. Now all he had to do was slowly close its jaws around him so that, by the time he felt the metal teeth beginning to bite into his flesh, it would be too late to escape.

Languidly, making certain that the younger man saw him do it, Nathanos eyed him head to toe. Anduin’s face turned immediately pink, shoulders curling forward into a bashful posture, and nearly tripped over his feet. Making his way quickly over to Reverence’s stall.

“Take Champion again.” The fact that the King didn’t stumble over his words or accidentally bite his tongue was a mild accomplishment, given how flustered he appeared. “He behaves for you. And it would doubtlessly be good for him to get out again.”

The black horse, like a Demon summoned from the Twisting Nether through the invocation of its name, stuck its head out of its stall and made a rude noise. Nathanos raised an eyebrow at it. Anduin choked trying to contain his laughter while puling down a bridle and saddle. Securing them both to his horse before leading the Palomino out.

After taking a moment to appreciate the view provided by the Priest’s fitted pants, Nathanos did the same.

Anduin was already mounted by the time he emerged, calmly balanced astride the Palomino’s back and watching him. He didn’t say anything, not right away at least, but the way that Nathanos was favoring his dominant arm as he swung himself up onto Champion’s back wasn’t lost on him.

The silence between them was amicable, if charged, for all that it lasted barely a minute passed leaving the city’s front gate.

“May I ask?”

Nathanos turned his head and sized him up. “That would depend on what you’re asking.”

“Lordaeron.” Anduin said. “What was it like? Before…before it became the Plaguelands?”

Those red eyes rested heavy on him for just long enough to make him start to squirm before finally answering. “Not terribly different from Elwynn Forest. Fewer trees. Windy. Good for farming, the soil rarely fallow. Lots of grazing land. Lots of space for dogs. And boys.”

Anduin cracked a small smile. “Did you have many friends as a child?”

“What does it matter?”

“I want to get to know you, Nathanos.”

“You won’t ‘get to know me’ asking questions like that! I’m not that man anymore. Haven’t been in years.” His voice was harsh. “Nathanos Marris is dead! There’s nothing left of him now!”

“As above so below: as I see the world so it shall be. It’s the chief tenant of Alchemy. I’m sure you’ve at least heard about it.” The Priest said. “If you ask me, I don’t think Nathanos Marris has to be gone. I’m sure that he’s still in there, somewhere. You could find him. If you looked.”

Their conversation ended in a caustic glare and for the better part of the next hour blessed silence reigned.

That, of course, could never hope to last with Wrynn around. And it wasn’t long before the young King spoke again.

“I haven’t been up here in years.” His voice had taken on a quiet tone of almost reverence. There was a softness to his eyes as he looked around. They’d started up into the foothills surrounding Elywnn, the trees thinning and exposing the thick grass to the golden glow of the sun edging ever closer to the far horizon. Though he did take the necessary time to look around Nathanos could see nothing special about the area. “I’m not sure when it was built or by whom but…back when I was younger…you remember what I told you about the lessons that my father gave me?”

The Dark Ranger’s glowing red eyes turned onto him. “That they were given out at some isolated cabin in the foothills and that it was a method of bonding between the two of you.” A pause in which Nathanos regarded him. “Horse. Cabin. I’m aware that there’s a considerable age gap between us but I’m not looking to be that sort of ‘daddy’.”

There it was: the brilliant crimson blush he’d been trying to coax out of him since he’d returned. Teetering dangerously in his saddle, gasping like a fish, the King turned almost betrayed eyes onto him.

“I’m going to have to politely request that you never insinuate such a thing again.” He said. “Though I’ll freely admit my preference for older men. And that I wouldn’t particularly mind calling you,” he peered up coyly through his gilt lashes, blue eyes promising mischief “’daddy’ if that’s what you’d prefer.”

Now it was Nathanos’ turn to choke, heat threading sluggish through his curdled blood. The little bastard had found his spine and thrown down a gauntlet.

“If you’re not careful I’m going to teach you more than how to shoot!”

In spite of the fact he’d matched the color of a cooked Klobstrok and looking as if every fiber of his being wanted to shrivel up and die from embarrassment the Priest managed to force out an artless “I wouldn’t mind taking multiple subjects.”

Their destination was a little shack, really, that didn’t particularly strike Nathanos as a place anyone of noble blood would wish to set foot within ten miles of. And yet, if Anduin was to be believed, this was precisely where not just the former King but his heir had spent long stretches of time together. It looked as if it hadn’t been touched in years, its stone face overgrown with climbing vines and the window glass gone milky with exposure to the sun.

Anduin dismounted and walked Reverence over to a nearby tree. Tying the reigns to a sturdy branch. Nathanos followed and did the same, watching the Priest make his way over to the door and-after ramming his shoulder into it a few times in order to dislodge the rest from the hinges-opening it. Briefly disappearing into the cabin only to reappear with his arms full of an assortment of items. Nathanos looked on in mild confusion until it became clear that the shapeless thing the King was currently trussing together with twine was supposed to be a-badly misshapen-man.

“For someone supposedly crippled you can certainly haul heavy objects around.”

“Crippled?” Blue eyes redirected onto him as Anduin finished tying the twine off into a knot. “Oh! You mean my leg!”

“Don’t tell me you _forgot_ that a giant bell was dropped on your head, Wrynn!”

“I’ve far from forgotten.” There was a light chuckle in his voice. “But my leg has mostly healed now. The only lasting effects are bouts of chronic pain, usually brought on by cold or wet weather, and a bit of a gift for reading those around me. Knowing their intent.”

His eyes were completely black, now. Pupils swollen with desire. Posture leaned towards him. When Nathanos reached up to touch his face, dragging a knuckle lightly along the curve of his cheekbone, Anduin didn’t flinch.

“An ability to read the intent of those around you?” he repeated. “Tell me, my King, has it ever led you wrong?”

“No.” Anduin’s voice was high and breathy. The fluttering of his heartbeat easily audible from where Nathanos stood, spiking that urge to rip and tear that never fully went away. “Not with Wrathion. Not with the Illidari. Not with you.”

If he really wished to cling to such a fantasy, so be it. It only made his job easier if his prey was so utterly gullible as to believe that his brain damage was unshakable proof he wouldn’t wind up with a knife in his chest.

“Shall we move on to why we’re here?” Nathanos acted to redirect their conversation. To set their game on a more interesting field. “There’s only just over an hour or so left before sunset and we’ll already be riding back in the dark as it is.”

For a moment Anduin appeared to struggle to pluck up the necessary concentration, then nodded and stepped away. Pulling the bow from his shoulders and an arrow from his quiver. “Should we resume from last time?” he asked, slipping into a shooting posture which was purposefully off. “I believe you wanted to see how I aim?”

Nathanos stepped forward with a gravely hum. Seizing the blonde by the hips without any of the subtly of before to correct him. Squeezing with just enough force to fall short of causing bruises. The light burn sending euphoria surging through Anduin, leaving him light headed enough to collapse back into Nathanos’ wide chest.

The Dark Ranger trapped him there before he could pull away. Arms wrapping around his waist instead. The gentle grip of a powerful python waiting to crush him at a moment’s notice. Remaining their only briefly before moving up to his arms. Ending up mimicking his position. Forcing his posture to follow his. Guiding his aim. Doing everything but holding the bow for him. Those cold lips brushing along the shell of his ear again as he purred “fire at will.”

That was how their lesson proceeded for the better part of an hour until Anduin wasn’t even focusing on the ‘lesson’ being provided. Wasn’t paying any mind to where the arrows that he fired landed. His awareness collapsing in scope until all he knew were the places where their bodies touched. The only signs that the Blightcaller was being similarly affected was the tightness of his grip and the mounting hunger in those glowing eyes.

That and the fact that one of his hands had migrated steadily southward until it came to rest on his ass. Kneading lightly into the soft flesh he found there.

Dropping the bow to the grass without much thought for the worn weapon Anduin turned in the Blightcaller’s grip. Shifting their position from back to front to chest to chest. The glowing red eyes burned like brands in the dying daylight as Nathanos looked down at him imperiously across their not inconsiderable height difference. They were close enough now that he could feel the other man’s cold breath against his lips. Catch his faint scent over the fallen leaves and baked earth of the forest; something sharp and spicy. Black pepper, perhaps? None of the decay which Genn complained of, thank the Light.

Plucking up the whole of his courage, Anduin rose up onto his toes to kiss him only to have Nathanos seize him by the ponytail. Gently but firmly. Holding him back. Confused, he blinked up at him.

“You forfeited the chance to have control of this…fling when you backed out of my last offer.” He growled. “I’m not quite finished making you squirm yet. And you haven’t quite earned a reward.”

The blonde huffed, eyes a glassy black, but after a moment’s consideration-and much to Nathanos’ surprise-didn’t challenge him on it. “A fling? That’s all that you think this is?”

“It’s all it will be, for me.” He said. “Perhaps for you that’s not the case, in spite of your loud proclamations in the past regarding its impropriety and your obliged position. I’m well aware that you’re an emotional fool. I’ve no heart left to give you, it rotted away long ago, but if you’re so inclined as to offer yours to me I’d be happy to devour it.”

“I’m told that I burn rather brightly.” The gloss of desire had receded somewhat, revealing a thin ring of pale blue like breaking day. “Are you sure you won’t catch fire?”

“The dead don’t feel it when they burn.”

“But they still burn.” The grin which unfurled across his features was almost enough to leave Nathanos feeling unnerved. “I’m curious to see if I can kindle something. As for control, well…I don’t mind handing it over to you in this much.”

Nathanos released the grip that he had on his hair, clawed gauntlets carding through the fair strands.

“But enough of that, then, if we won’t be moving forward with such matters quite yet.” Anduin said. “I noticed it earlier but didn’t have a chance to mention the matter: you’re hurt.”

“It’s been dealt with as much as is possible in the given setting.” Nathanos said. “There’s nothing you can do.”

“I wouldn’t quite say that, Blightcaller. I’ve more of a penchant for the Shadow than most people realize. I’m only a Discipline Priest rather than a Holy one because I can’t quite manage to unlatch my darker side: the Shadow Reaper can be stubborn like that.”

“Shadow Reaper?”

The young King didn’t elaborate, trotting passed him towards the still open door of the cabin. “Come inside and at least let me look at it.”

The disturbing reality that his living warmth was immediately missed didn’t escape the Dark Ranger Lord as he followed the blonde over the lopsided threshold. The furnishing was sparse, the air was almost painfully dry and everything was covered in a layer of dust inches thick. The legs of a sizeable table screeched against the buckled floorboards as Anduin pushed it into a more central position. Tapping on it once he was satisfied.

“Sit down.” He chirped.

Nathanos’ red eyes shifted from the table to the King and back again. Crossing the floor and sitting almost gingerly on the edge. Aware, however hard he tried to be professional, of Anduin’s eyes resting heavy on his bare back. Of how they traced the scars a hard life had left him riddled with both in body and mind; followed the ragged track of the divot down the center of his chest which the Valkyr ritual had made of his formerly gaping death wound. Finding the stitched arrow wound, Anduin’s face hardened. The shadow tinting his eyes a deadly nightshade hue.

“Sylvanas found you.” Intuition? A logical guess, gleaned from the fact that there were very few on Azeroth who could have succeeded in shooting him? Nathanos had no way of knowing.”

“Yes.” He grunted.

Anduin’s expression softened again, eyes a powder shade of blue, and Nathanos couldn’t bare to look at the pity in his face. No, not pity. Empathy. He was being looked at with _empathy_. The Blightcaller had to restrain himself from reaching out with both hands and burying his thumbs in the Priest’s eye sockets.

“May I take a look?”

Another grunt.

Taking the gruff response for consent Anduin stepped forward. Gloved fingertips gently, so gently, touching his blued skin. Probing lightly along the edges of the injury and apologizing softly when he flinched.

“Did you do these stitches yourself?” He asked. “They’re…passable for having been done with one hand but…you sew doilies?”

“What?” Nathanos snapped.

“The stitching method used on your wound. Is for doilies.” Anduin repeated. “So, whoever did them-.”

“It was Greymane.”

Anduin blinked. “…Genn sews doilies?”

“The Greymane _girl_!”

“Oh, Tess!” The blonde looked almost relieved. “That…that makes a lot more sense.”

Nathanos grumbled. Anduin returned his full attention to the wound and made a disapproving sound. “Either way, these need to be redone. The method is adequate for fabric but not for flesh. I’m shocked it even stopped the bleeding.” He said. “Luckily, I carry a needle and medical stitching with me, along with a number more basic medical surprise. Give me a moment.”

He swept out of the cabin without waiting for an answer, returning a moment later with a leather pack removed from one of the saddle bags hung from the back of his horse. Clattering around in another room and returning with a wooden bowl and length of cloth as well. Setting it on the table beside him.

Unscrewing the lid of the canteen of water and emptying it into the bowl, draping the cloth over the side, he opened the pack. Pulling out a needle, ball of sturdy thread and small set of tweezers. Calling the Shadow to his fingertips with one hand to ease the pain of disturbing the wound, wielding the tweezers with the other, Anduin made quick work of removing the stitching from his skin. Replacing them swiftly with a neat line of tight sutures, brows knit together in concentration beneath gilt fringe as he worked. Using the cloth, damp from the water in the bowl, to wipe away the blood.

“I take it the Undead don’t heal the way the Living do?” Anduin said. “To do so requires the aid of magic?” An assenting noise. “Shadow Mend will manage?”

“I don’t see why it wouldn’t work.” Nathanos said. “Eventually.”

The Shadow magic turned his eyes fully violet as Anduin called upon the spell in question. The frigid energy washing over him, slightly numbing his perception of the pain but not taking it away.

Those gloved fingers lightly traced the seam again. Stroking the punctured skin. “It’ll take a few nights to heal this fully; make these stitches no longer necessary.”

“And I’m expected to report to these ‘sessions’?”

Anduin nodded, beginning the process of cleansing the tools that he’d used and packing them away. “Please.” He said. A drawn-out pause filled only by the clatter of the medical supplies and then “I’d also like to make this, our lessons here, a regular thing. If you’d be so inclined. I…” the pink color was creeping down his neck again, “enjoy your company.”

Enjoyed his company? That was a new one. Nathanos couldn’t recall anyone ever having strung those three words together in connection to him. Not even Sylvanas.

He hated Wrynn for his warmth. For his weakness. For the preternatural ability he had to look at a monster like him and smile. For the inescapable realization that on some level, if only because of how reactive he was, Nathanos enjoyed his company too. “You’re tolerable.”

After he killed him, he might even feel regret. That same, dull ache born from the smoldering echo of the humanity he’d once had that he’d felt in the wake of his cousin’s death. Present and impossible to ignore no matter how desperately he tried to suppress it. To strangle it. Bury it in the grave he never should have left.

And bury Wrynn with it.

Not wanting to engage that realization head on Nathanos simply grunted and endeavored to change the subject. Pushing himself off the table that he’d perched on and walking the floor of the cabin. Red eyes finding a nearby door. “Where does this lead?”

Anduin made a confused noise and looked up. “Oh, that’s the cellar.”

“Cellar, you say?” his voice had taken on a purring tone. He opened the door to reveal a set of stone stairs and peered down into the unveiled darkness before descending. Undeath having lessened his dependence on light to see considerably, Nathanos inspected the area without need for a candle. Bare stone walls. Low ceiling. Empty but for a scattering of old boxes. “Marvelous.”

“If these are your standards, I feel a bit offended.” Anduin had descended the stairs behind him and now leaned against the unstable railing. Blue eyes curious. “What’s so marvelous about a bunch of dusty boxes?”

“It’s not the boxes you scissorbill!” Nathanos snapped. “But rather that this cabin, specifically this windowless dungeonesque basement, will perfectly serve our…private lessons. Should you still wish them to continue?”

“I’m assuming these will pertain to more than archery.” Anduin said around a smile. “Once you’ve finished ‘making me squirm’ that is.”

“You’re the one who said that you were fine with taking multiple subjects.”

“More than fine,” the King replied. “Though I’m afraid I must ask after my esteemed teacher’s credentials.”

Those glowing red eyes seemed to fluoresce brighter for a moment. “Let us simply say that your forces, had they managed to infiltrate the Under City’s lower halls, would have discovered a number of…interesting things and leave it at that.”

“Ah, so you had fun with your…shall we call them coworkers?”

The Dark Ranger ignored him. “I’ll need to make some renovations.” He returned to the stairs, forcing Anduin to ascend or be run over. The narrow staircase leaving him no room to maneuver otherwise. “If nothing else it will give me something to do during the night when all of you Living are asleep.”

“And a secret place to sew your doilies.” Anduin snorted.

Nathanos glared at him. “Wrynn, we’ve talked about this.”

“Oh, right. It was Tess. Sure.”

“I do _not_ sew doilies!” The young King descended into a fit of cackling which left him breathless. Nathanos growled. “Does anyone else frequent this place? I need to know how many arrows I have to have on hand in case some hapless peasant stumbles on their King trussed up in strappado.”

Anduin blinked, struck silent, face turning red. “Um…strappado?”

“I’m not going to spoil my lessons before they occur.” The Blightcaller drawled. “But I promise to ensure the shackles used to bind you will be padded so as not to damage your delicate royal wrists.” Seizing his nearest arm in a firm grasp Nathanos dragged his thumb lightly along the delicate protrusion of bone that he found there along the mouth of his leather gloves. “Having someone notice the bruises and start asking questions, well…we can’t be having that, now can we?”

Light, the thought of that revelation coming out-not just of Anduin’s particular taste but the doubtlessly compromising nature of what Nathanos was surely thinking of ‘teaching’ him, and precisely with whom-made his skin crawl.

He’d never seen Genn really lose it before and didn’t particularly want to change that. But Anduin knew that that was exactly what would happen if the precise nature of what they were preparing to start doing _ever_ came out. The Worgen would likely-quite literally-rip Nathanos’ head off. Jaina would make sure the ice block the Dark Ranger Lord found himself in would never melt. Tyrande, well…the High Priestess of Elune would likely bypass the former Champion of the Banshee Queen entirely and kill _him_ instead.

“But it’s gotten dark, my King.” Nathanos’ grip was almost tender in that last moment before he dropped his hand. “Allow me to get you back to the Keep.”

 

 

 


	14. Wolf's Head

If you were to ask almost anyone on Azeroth at any given point they’d tell you that all Goblins looked the same, that telling them apart was like differentiation between grains of sand, and though some were offended by it Renzik, second in command of SI:7 under Mathias Shaw, was perfectly happy to stand by and allow such beliefs to continue. It made his job easier, if nothing else.

After all, what was one more Goblin merchant on the busy streets of Orgrimmar? About as much as one more drop of water in the Veiled Sea. One more Goblin in Warsong Hold, mid Faction leader meeting, however? That would certainly be something, should he be discovered.

He took a further moment to wedge himself more firmly into the hiding place he’d found before returning his attention to goings on before him. The Banshee Queen sat atop the throne but looked anything but relaxed, her red eyes a darker tone than usual and fury etched into every one of her fine cut features. The unnatural cold which hung over the room like a pall seemed to emanate from her like a dark cloud. Gallywix, as usual, grinning like a shark and practically crusted in gold, was oblivious to the matter. Or perhaps he simply didn’t care. Blissfully, his portly short set form swathed in fur and fine fabric, he stood by while the other leaders twitched and shifted. Baine, Mayla, Thalyssra and Lor’themar all had their ears pinned back. Rokhan stood more stiffly than normal, narrowed eyes fixed on the Warchief’s taloned fingers as they dug into the arms of her throne.

“I’m sure you’re all wondering,” she snarled, “why it is that I’ve called you here? I’m sure you’ve all heard of our recent loss in Darkshore? I’m sure, likewise, that none of you are aware of precisely why.”

Dead silence.

“There is a traitor among us. Or, rather, there was. Though he is not among us anymore. Not, unfortunately, because he’s been dealt with but rather because he’s managed to wedge himself beneath the Lion’s paws.” She said. “The Blightcaller was my dear Champion, my most valued companion, but it seems I gave him too much privilege. Too much freedom. Made too many exceptions for his missteps and disrespect. I failed to nip such behaviors when I should have and now, he’s gone to Wrynn! Joined the Alliance!”

Another pause. Laden with discomfort. Heavy with tension.

“Anything to say, Lor’themar?” there was a snap to her voice. The Regent Lord of Quel’thalas paled but held his ground.

“We’ve never gotten along, I’ll admit, but I’d never imagine he’d do something like this.” He said. “If nothing else the Blightcaller struck me as loyal passed a fault.”

“Yes. Me as well. Though it would seem that we were incorrect.” She said. “Though I’d like to have a certain question of importance answered. Precisely how is it that my former Champion managed to get into contact with the High King of the Alliance? I recall that one here, among us, would proudly count the Little Lion among his friends.”

All eyes immediately fell on Baine. The Tauren snorted harshly and drew himself up to his full impressive height. The feather hung from his horns clattering together. “My friendship with Anduin in no way influences my actions within the Horde. Nor does his with me influence his actions within the Alliance!” He said. “I haven’t had contact with him since before the Siege of Lordaeron. And I certainly wouldn’t send him a serpent even if I _were_ in the business of abetting deserters!”

“Then explain to me how it is that-.”

“Perhaps he has more agency than you’ve ever given him credit for!” His booming voice echoed off the metal walls around them and in its wake that oppressive silence fell again. “My people helped to build the Horde from its foundations! Under Garrosh’s tyranny, we worked to save it. How dare you suggest I would ever turn my back on it! Are we finished here, Sylvanas?”

Those red eyes rested on him owlishly for a drawn out moment before she said “with the knowledge that a considerable bounty has been placed on his head and that he’s to be killed on sight as an enemy of the Horde, that anyone found to be doing otherwise will be likewise labeled a traitor, yes.” She said. “Leave me. All of you!”

The other leaders were swift to vacate the room. All aside from Lor’themar who, though looking less than comfortable, did an admirable job of holding his ground. “I’m afraid I have to call your bluff.”

“My bluff?” her voice was sharp. “I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

“For all his faults Nathanos Blightcaller was far too devoted to you to ever turn his back. Most certainly not to go to Wrynn.” Lor’themar said. “I can’t believe that he’s a turn coat.  I can, however, believe that this is all some elaborate ploy.”

“To what end, Regent Lord? Destroy the Alliance from within?” Sylvanas shook her head. “I wouldn’t have chosen Nathanos for such a job. He’s far too blunt, too direct, to have the acting capacity needed to pull such a thing off. Sympathy could be leveraged to sway Wrynn regardless, but not those around him. And…though I hate to admit such weakness I’d miss his presence too much. Even though what was between us was never the same after…all that’s happened. Both of us changed, after we fell. He drew away from me.”

“But why would he betray you?”

“I overestimated his capacity for resisting sentimental attachments. Pushed too far in making him culpable in the scuttling of the Undercity. I should have known better.” She said. “He sees me as little different than Arthas, now. Would rather suffer a sanctimonious fool than remain by my side.” A pause in which Sylvanas sized him up. “You’d agree?”

“Agree?” he repeated. “I can’t say either way, Warchief. I don’t disagree but I don’t agree either.”

“Speak freely.” She said. “At this point, I value honesty.”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to compare you to the Lich King but some of what you’ve done could be considered…heavy handed.”

“Heavy handed?” Sylvanas scoffed. “Naturally. The only way for the Horde to have a future is for us to ensure that the Alliance does not. In attempting to coexist we’ve forgotten what makes us strong.”

“If you truly believe that that is best, Warchief.”

Taking that as his cue to leave Renzik swiftly exited the Hold and melted into the rush and sound of the streets of the Orcish Capital. Returning to the stall he’d taken to manning in the interest of cover. His hired assistant, Kenzy-not a member of SI:7 or in any way aware of what he was really doing there-coming out from behind the counter of the stall to greet him.

“Hey Renzik, where’ve you been?” she asked. “Just missed the busiest part of the day, you lug! I thought we were trying to make some money here!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. It’s a business. I’m aware. But I’m also aware that you could swindle the pants off a Naga with or without me around, sweet heart.” He ignored her glare. “Listen, there’s some stuff I gotta take care of today. Unavoidable emergency. I’ll be back to work tomorrow.”

“Ooh, you’d better be! If I don’t see you here tomorrow morning, Renzik, I’ll-!”

He didn’t give her the chance to finish her threat, digging the hearthstone out of his pack and activating it. Orgrimmar vanished in a flash of blue light.

Wasting no time upon his arrival back in Stormwind, Renzik made his way to Old Towne and into SI:7 headquarters.

“Mathias just stopped in to collect a few reports.” Broderick Grey said on seeing him. “If you’re back here I assume it’s important. If you hurry you should be able to catch him before he returns to Boralus.”

Renzik quickly rushed up the indicated stairs and into the Spymaster’s office, nearly barreling into Mathias’ knees as he emerged with his hands full of papers. The ginger rogue looked down at him in surprise.

“Renzik? I thought you weren’t due for a report for another week.”

“I’m not, but I’ve news on the Blightcaller I thought you’d want to be made aware of immediately.” He said, stepping around the much taller Human and into the office behind him. Amused by the behavior of his friend Shaw closed the door again and returned to the desk. “I’m aware that I was sent in under cover for the sole purpose of monitoring the Horde’s consumption of Azerite and precisely where they’re getting it from but when I heard that Sylvanas had called the other leaders together to discuss a traitor I couldn’t pass up the chance to be a fly on Grommash Hold’s wall.”

“The ‘traitor’ they were discussing was the Blightcaller?”

“She’s declared him a Wolf’s Head. Placed a bounty on his head. The entire Horde, not just the Forsaken, have been set on his trail. Add that to the fact that she nearly blasted him to hell and back in Dark Shore, I think it’s fair to say this isn’t a ruse.”

 Mathias grunted thoughtfully, setting the papers he was holding aside on the desk. “Nathanos Blightcaller will never cease to be a danger to King Anduin’s well being though the honesty of his plight that your report would suggest transforms him from an immediate threat to an inevitable one.” He said. “I’ll alert Broderick that his watch can be relaxed. Sanguinar, I’m sure, will be more than capable of keeping Nathanos in line for the time being. Especially when combined with the Royal Guard.”

 “You still don’t like it.” The Goblin said. “Don’t deny it, Shaw.  I know you too well for that.”

“No. I don’t like it. But, for the time being, he’s a necessary evil.” Mathias said. “As is, Nathanos Blightcaller needs Anduin to ensure his place within the Alliance, which will in turn protect him from the Horde. If nothing else, self-preservation will insure anything that threatens the King will be met with the full force of his cruelty. But the moment he’s no longer under threat from the Banshee Queen. Anduin will be in danger. And the Blightcallers already shown himself prone to letting him out of his sight.”

“What do you intend to do?”

“Nothing. For the time being my whole focus must remain in Boralus.” The Spymaster scrubbed a gloved hand down his face, pulling gently on the strands of his russet moustache. “But the finer points of preparations for the assault on Zandalar are almost at end and I’ll soon be able to leave things enough in Halford’s hands to return to Stormwind full time. At which point I’ll be keeping an eye on the Blightcaller myself.”

 

It had been three days since the first of their ‘private lessons’ and Anduin hadn’t gotten the thought of precisely what ‘renovations’ the Blightcaller had planned. And precisely from whom he intended to get the necessary materials. He hadn’t seen any signs of Nathanos actually working on the ‘project’, as Anduin supposed he could call it, but he had mentioned such things would be of use to keep busy while he slaved away at signing ledgers through the deepest hours of the night when he should have been asleep.

Light, damn his inability to focus whenever the other man was around! As Anduin sat hunched on his throne with his head in his hands he came to the guild ridden realization that all but the most general idea of the numerous points in Halford’s report had entirely escaped his mind.

The young King wanted to excuse the matter by claiming that it was the late hour, or his long running lack of sleep, or the nearness of dinner which had caused his distraction but the reality of matters was that the way the sleeves of the dark button up Nathanos has inexplicable-specifically to torture him-adorned clung to his powerful arms was the real culprit.

Massaging his temples in an effort to relieve the pounding in his head, shifting his weight in an effort to restore some feeling to his lower extremities after spending the better part of the day sitting on the Lion Seat, Anduin leaned back. Propping his head against the stone and closing his eyes.

The soft click of the heels of Nathanos’ well shined-from being almost never worn-loafers drew closer to his throne. Then a cold hand landed lightly on his shoulders and he opened his eyes to find a level red gaze looking back at him.

“The living need their sleep, my King.” Nathanos said. “It’s rather plain that you haven’t been getting yours.”

“Sleep? When would I ever find the time for something like that?” he asked. “There’s too many papers to sign. Too many men to direct. Too much to do.”

“And you won’t be doing any of it if you drop dead from sleep deprivation.”

Sensing the argument had come to a deadlock Anduin dropped the matter. Pushing himself onto his feet, slightly bow legged from sitting so long. Tilting forward and almost falling but for Nathanos’ quick effort to prop him up. “I’ll try and get at least a few hours in tonight.” He promised. “But, for the time being, I should concern myself with eating.”

“This, I trust, is your que to repeat your nightly request that I join you in spite of the fact that the answer is always the same?”

“Why, of course.”

“You are aware, Wrynn, of the accepted definition of insanity?”

“I am.” Anduin chuckled, reluctantly releasing his grip on the arm which had been used to prop him up. If only because some of the standing guards had begun to stare. “Accompany me for dinner, Blightcaller?”

Nathanos’ habit when asked that question had become immediately turning him down, grumbling something unflattering and then making himself scarce. So, this time, when he paused to look at him, the break in pattern wasn’t missed. “Just this once,” he said after a drawn-out moment, “I’ll indulge you. Give me a moment to retrieve my hound.”

“Bootsy?” One of the small muscles in his face twitched but he didn’t complain. Anduin was determined to have him referring to the little puppy as Boots soon enough but for now he was happy to take a lack of verbal disagreement as progress.

“Yes.” He grunted. “I’ll meet you in the dining room, provided you can make it there on your own in your state?”

“I’ll be alright, Nathanos. Thank you.” They parted ways outside the throne room. Nathanos disappearing around a corner and Anduin making his way over to the dining room, sitting down at the head of the table already filled with food by the palace servants, having expected his arrival.

Boots preceded her Master into the room, bouncing on her disproportionately large paws, unsteady but far more mobile than she’d been when Anduin had first seen her, still suffering from the plaguing of the scuttled Undercity. Nathanos followed after, not saying a word to him or paying any mind to the food arrayed between them. Calling the hound to heel before seating himself at the opposite end. Red eyes finding a steady gaze.

Hiding, or at least attempting to hide, the fact that he was staring at him, behind the rim of his heavy golden goblet Anduin afforded his companion an appreciative examination. Since he’d left the throne room to collect Boots the first three buttons on his shirt had been undone. The collar opening to reveal a generous view of throat and clavicle clearly designed to catch his attention. From the curve of his pale lips, victorious in appearance, which had found its way onto his face it was clear Nathanos knew that he’d succeeded.

Clearing his throat, tongue laden with the sour taste of wine, Anduin set his goblet aside. Picking up his fork but not eating. “Halford’s insights are a measure of a relief to hear.” He said. “Though the continued harrying by the Dark Rangers is a concern, we stand in a position of near advantage. A bit more pressure and we’ll go into the Siege of Dazar’alor with high ground over the Horde.”

“Don’t attempt to convince me that you were actually trying to pay attention during that report.” Slowly, deliberately, Nathanos undid the buttons on his cuffs. First one and then the other. Neatly rolling the crisp fabric back to the elbow. Baring his forearms to blue eyes which were all too pleased to rove across the newly unveiled territory. “I know better, Wrynn.”

“I was doing my best to.” Anduin tried and failed to control his breathing as Nathanos rose and prowled towards him. Dropping his fork onto his plate with a clatter. “I’ve simply a lot on my mind.”

The Dark Ranger hummed, reaching him at last. Propping his hip against the table just beside him. “I’d be willing to bet not all of it ‘Kingly’. In any capacity.”

Nathanos snatched up his discarded fork between nimble fingers, scooping a forkful off Anduin’s plate and proffering it to him.

“Since you seem so inclined towards witless staring and I intend to see to your health, let us meet in the middle. Eat.” Anduin’s blue eyes moved from Nathanos to the fork and back again and opened his mouth to question the man’s apparent intent to feed him only to have the fork shoved-firmly but while still taking care not to gag him-into his mouth. The Dark Ranger Lord pulled the fork back a moment later and for a moment or two the pair simply stared at each other before he said gruffly “chew, Wrynn!”

With his other options being to spit the food back onto his plate or to just hold it in his mouth Anduin did as he was told, only to have another fork shoved in to replace it immediately after. And again, the next time he attempted to speak. And the next. Until, finally, the Priest surrendered to being fed and simply accepted the utensil and the food it carried without question. Watching the way Nathanos’ posture shifted into something almost relaxed, leaned on the flat of one forearm as he held the fork loosely with his other hand. Staring at him as he ate with a gleam in those scarlet eyes which made him look hungry himself.

Anduin felt his face begin to heat up. The low purr building in the chest of the larger man rapidly becoming more and more audible. “Such a good boy.” The young King pulled up short only to have Nathanos push the fork at him more aggressively. All but forcing him to take another mouthful. “There we are. Keep eating. A young lion needs his energy, after all.”

As the Priest chewed and swallowed the last of the food on his plate, he couldn’t help but think that there might be something more to the matter at hand than a simple effort to disquiet him. And that, perhaps, Nathanos found a use for dinner after all.

When the Dark Ranger Lord moved to refill his plate Anduin reached out and rested a hand on his arm. “Please,” he said softly, fidgeting beneath the flaring gaze which landed on him in response, “I don’t eat that much.”

A low hum in response, those eyes sizing him up again. “Surely a bit more could do you good, my Liege.” He said. “You’re rather thin.”

Yes, there was definitely something more to this. The way the Blightcaller’s eyes were devouring him made that much plain.

Leaning forward and seizing an empty goblet from where it sat on the table nearby, Anduin hastily filled it and pushed it towards the other man before refilling his own. “Drink with me.” He said, earning a raised eyebrow in response. “Please.”

Nathanos considered the dark liquid filling the heavy goblet for a moment before pushing himself upright and wrapping his pale fingers around the ridged stem in a manner clearly meant to draw his notice. Anduin, through some miracle of discipline, refused to acknowledge the suggestion in the gesture. The Blightcaller seemed almost disappointed as he claimed a nearby seat.

The Priest raised the goblet to his lips and took a deep draught of the wine inside. Allowing the dryness, the bold flavor, to center his focus on precisely why it was he’d wanted Nathanos attendant to at least one dinner. The real reason behind it, thought it wasn’t to say his want of company was a lie.

He almost felt guilty for what he was about to blindside his companion with, but reminding himself-yet again-that this was as much for Nathanos’ good as it was the ensure he lived through the game which they were playing allowed him to go through with it.

Nathanos spoke before he could, though. “Tell me, my King. Do you wine and dine all your company like this?” there was something territorial in his voice. He’d crossed his arms over his chest. “All your allies. The other leaders. That Night Elf witch.”

Well, at least now he wouldn’t have to worry about fenagling some way in which to broach the subject without it seeming forced and unnatural.

“There’s no need to sound so defensive, Nathanos. Especially about Tyrande. Though I respect her as a fellow leader, she’s not my type. Not to mention that she lacks the necessary parts _and_ is already married. But,” Anduin said, “that’s not the main reason.”

“Oh?” he grunted. “Do tell.”

“It’s just…Light, I don’t know how the three of you do it. Did it. You. Rhonin. Turalyon. Especially you, though.”

Nathanos didn’t look particularly pleased to have his name listed beside those of the other two men. “Precisely what have I done that would, in your mind, put me level with a mage that got himself _blown up_ in Theramore and that Holy Troglodyte?”

“Engaged in a meaningful relationship with an Elf. Or, at least, a relationship which was meaningful to you.” He said. “I’ve nothing against Elves of any sort, never think that. It’s simply that-.”

“Simply _what_?”

“Well…how can you know? How it will be for them. After, well…” he shook his head. “Vareesa married Rhonin and they had the twins. Alleria and Turalyon have Arator to show the truth of their feelings for each other. You and Sylvanas, on the other hand…”

His red eyes were vicious now. “What, precisely, are you attempting to say?” Nathanos spat.

When Anduin raised his head to meet his gaze he could no longer conceal the sympathy in his eyes. “Elves live a long time. Humans don’t.”

The Dark Ranger Lord was on his feet so fast the chair he’d been sitting in toppled over, the resonant bang sending Boots skittering away across the floor in alarm. Beneath the ferocity of his eyes Anduin couldn’t keep the color from draining from his face.

“I-I apologize if I’ve offended you-.”

“You haven’t!” He snapped, shouldering passed him, though Anduin knew better. Whistling sharply for the Plaguehound as he went.

“Wait!” Anduin hurriedly got up as well, nearly toppling his wine in the process. “What about your shoulder, Nathanos? You’ve already missed three nights of treatment-!”

“I’ll live!” All the young King could do was stand by and watch as the other man stormed out the door, the little puppy trailing after.


	15. A Step into the Shallow End

_The Wind’s Redemption_ creaked as it listed on the waves of Boralus Harbor. The cackling of the white gulls swarming overhead and the echolalia of noise from Tradewind Market seeping in through the swollen wood making up the warship’s hull. Umbric, former Magister of Silvermoon prior to his exile for daring to turn to the power of the Void, now leader of the Ren’dorei outcasts of Telorgrus Rift under Alleria, made his way swiftly through the narrow corridor leading to the room which the eldest Windrunner sibling had specified in her message.

“I apologize for my tardiness, Lady Windrunner.” He said, stepping in through the door. “It took me far longer than I’d have preferred to finish my assignment in Vol’dun. The Sethrak are a particularly vicious race.”

“Don’t worry yourself over it, Umbric. It’s not a terribly urgent matter. At least from what I understand.” She said. “I received a letter from Vareesa a little over a week ago, now, asking me to come to see her in Dalaran to discuss certain…decisions made by the high King of late. I cannot leave my post vacant for even a short period with things being as they are now and would prefer to leave matters in your hands, if possible, for that time.”

“Of course, Lady Windrunner,” he said. “I’ll hold down the fort while you’re away and will see to it that my normal duties are evenly distributed in the meantime.”

“Thank you, Umbric.” Alleria said. “I’ll make my way to Dalaran now.”

“Safe travels, my Lady.”

Leaving the boat, and Kul Tiras, behind Alleria stepped through a Void Portal out onto the dusted bricks of Krasus’ Landing. Making her way through Dalaran’s streets-emptier now that the Legion had gone and the floating city had been repositioned over the crater from which it had originally come-to the Silver Covenant Sanctuary.

Surrounded by soft tones of blue and gold lion motifs peering down at her from every angle, Alleria was struck again with sadness that so much had changed in the time she’d been away. The lingering confusion over how after all the Orcs and Trolls had done to them her people had ever come to a position where they’d even consider joining the Horde.

Vareesa’s home, where she lived with her two boys and had once lived with Rohnin, was a beautiful white spire located almost central of the Sanctuary. It’s gilded stone sprouting with vibrant flowers grown beneath every windowsill. Buzzing with bees and small birds. Arrows clattering together in her quiver as she moved, Alleria mounted the steps outside the door and raised her hand to knock.

The sound of stampeding feet immediately converged on her position from deeper within the house. A moment later the door was flung open, unleashing a pair of small boys who launched themselves into her arms with cries of “Auntie Alleria!” Giramar and Galadin had their father’s red hair but it was easy to see Vareesa in their features.

“Hello, boys.” She said, reaching out to ruffle their hair. Giramar grumbled and tried to pull away, reaching up to return the strands to how they’d prior been lying. Galadin just laughed and left his own a rumpled mess. “Would you happen to know where your mother is?”

“Here, Alleria.” Her youngest sister stepped out into the pale sunlight. “I was beginning to think you weren’t going to respond. I sent that letter nearly a week ago.”

“I’m sorry, Little Moon. My duties in Boralus are many and I couldn’t leave without placing them in Umbric’s hands. Unfortunately, the Magister was afield until today.” She said. “You’re concerned because of Anduin’s recent decision? I’ll admit that it’s not the wisest thing to do in regards to his image but I’m not surprised by it. It’s entirely in character for him. And…I suppose not _all_ of them are monsters.”

“Boys.” Vareesa said, calling the attention of the twins. “Why don’t you go up to your rooms while your aunt and I have a discussion in the kitchen?”

The twins, somewhat unwillingly, nodded and headed passed their other and up the stairs. Vareesa stepped aside to clear the doorway. “Come in.”

The halls were narrow, but uncluttered. The house was clean and warm and the kitchen she was led to was awash with light. “Vareesa,” Alleria said once they’d seated themselves at the table, watching her younger sister fidget, “surely there’s more to this than the simple fact that he’s chosen to shelter one of the Forsaken. This has to do with the rumors which surrounded it, yes? The notion that the ‘Forsaken’ who’s sought shelter within the Alliance is a Dark Ranger, or even the Blightcaller-.”

“It’s not simply a ‘notion’ or a ‘rumor’ Alleria!” She cut in. “He fought in Darkshore beside Greymane and Tyrande. When they confronted Sylvanas she nearly killed him but I don’t trust that it isn’t all one of our sister’s schemes.”

“And you want to check on Anduin.”

“Yes!”

Alleria sighed and ran her hands through her long, golden hair. As much as she wanted to deny it-she didn’t believe that it really was Nathanos who’d jumped proverbial ship-she had to admit that they couldn’t in good conscience leave the matter lie entirely. “Let’s head to Stormwind, then. The portal in the Sanctuary is still open, isn’t it?”

After bidding the twins farewell, warning them to behave and promising to return in a few hours the two sisters left Vareesa’s home for the portal. Stepping out into the Mage Tower’s portal room a moment later.

Stormwind’s streets were a buzz with activity, filled with hawking merchants and lively citizens. Children ran about in all directions. Fishermen stood on the numerous docks which lined the glittering canals, casting their lines into the water.

The number of patrolling guards had been considerably increased since the break out staged by the Horde. More than a few paused to treat them both to suspicious eyes as they passed. The Royal Guard wasn’t much different though they made no effort to stop them from entering the Keep.

The King, despite the time, wasn’t present in the throne room and if it hadn’t been for the timely appearance of Valeera they might have had to admit defeat in their efforts. At least for the day.

“When I heard about the High Elves headed for the Keep, I thought it might be you two.” She said. “Anduin adjourned his court early today in an effort to keep abreast of all his paperwork. He’s in his study if you’d like to speak with him?”

“Please.” Vareesa said.

“Follow me.” They made their way quickly through the deeper hallways of Stormwind’s Keep, arriving at a heavy door a moment later. Valeera knocked once and then pushed it open.

So much paperwork had been piled atop the sturdy oak desk that it was difficult to discern the young Priest on the other side. He looked up at the sound of creaking hinges and blinked in surprise.

“Oh, Alleria. Vareesa. This is a surprise.” He said. “I’d rise to greet you but there’s a puppy in my lap. What can I help you with?”

Setting aside his quill, Anduin shifted the paper around on his desk until there was enough space between two of the stacks to clearly see him through. He looked like he hadn’t been sleeping well. It was heartbreaking how dark the shadows were beneath his eyes.

“We simply wanted to check in on you, your Majesty.” Vareesa said. “It’s simply that…that we heard. About…about Nathanos-.”

 ** _“What_** about me?” The low growl made all of them jump. Alleria and Vareesa whirled around to face him, eyes wide.

Anduin looked up and calmly said “You’re back. How did it go?”

Red eyes fixated on him in annoyance. “If these are the best of Foxworthy’s students than there’s little hope to be had for Stormwind’s Hunters.” He snapped. “I’ve had Forsaken with advanced stages of brain rot in my tutelage and yet none of them ever managed to shoot themselves in the foot, _three times_ might I add, within the span of one lesson. Buckley, however-.”

“Benjamin did mention that Nolan wasn’t a great shot. I’m sure you’ll be able to shape them up in due time.” Anduin said calmly. Nathanos grunted, folding his arms. “Can I help you?”

“You have something of mine.”

The young King treated the Dark Ranger Lord to a brief deer in headlights stare before saying “come back later. The baby is sleeping.”

The older man clearly wasn’t pleased by this answer and growled under his breath. Stalking around the end of his desk and seizing the back of his chair. Tugging it out with a rough twitch of his wrists, hissing in pain. Both Priest and Plague hound-a tiny green puppy with gigantic paws-looked up at him rather sheepishly. In an apparent effort to diffuse the situation, almost like a child whose parents were fighting, the puppy wagged her tail and whimpered.

“Now, Wrynn.”

“Now what?” Anduin asked innocently.

“You. Know. Exactly. What.”

He shook his head. “I really don’t.”

“Boots!” Nathanos took advantage of Anduin’s surprise and swooped down to scoop up the puppy. Making for the door and vanishing into the hallway a moment later.

A beat of silence followed, broken by Anduin’s sigh. “Well, to gain brief advantage he’s admitted defeat.” He said, smiling. “Boots is Boots for certain now and there’s absolutely nothing he can do.”

“That’s what you’re focused on?” Valeera shook her head. “Unbelievable.”

“Well, it’s not the only thing.” He said. “I just wish he’d let me treat his shoulder. I tried to get him to agree to doing so but it seems that even though he didn’t appear opposed to the suggestion…I suppose it doesn’t help that I seem to have made him angry.”

“You knew that he wouldn’t take well to having that brought up. And yet you did it anyway.”

“Did what?” Alleria asked.

Anduin simply waved her off. “I simply let my curiosity get the better of me. Asked after something I shouldn’t have. Made a comment, ultimately, which was…offensive, shall we say.” He said. “I think he’s upset with me.”

“He’s always upset.” Valeera said. “How can you tell the difference?”

“Because, usually, he goes more out of his way to make me uncomfortable. Seems to find sport in making me blush.” The King sighed, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. “I’m not certain if I should be worried about some form of revenge. Or when it will come.”

“Let him try something.” She growled. “I’ll put a dagger so far up his ass-.”

“’Leera, please. I’m sure it won’t come to such a drastic reaction.”

“King Anduin-.”

The blonde raised a hand to cut her off, blue eyes tired but ever patient and kind. “Vareesa, if you’re going to attempt to caution me on the matter, I must ask you please save your breath.” He said. “I’ve heard much the same from everyone else and, I assure you, and fully aware of what I’m doing. I appreciate your concern, both of you, but its unnecessary. He tolerates me well enough and I’m not naïve enough to the danger of having him so near to think he’s entirely harmless by any means but I truly believe I’ve made the right choice. Both for the sake of the Alliance as a whole and for his. I know I won’t regret this.”

Their conversation didn’t last much longer; the Windrunner sisters making a few more attempts to convince him better, or at least to use more caution, before departing. Valeera reminding him again not to overwork himself before leaving him his peace.

For the next few hours the only sounds in the study were the scratching of his quill and the shuffling of papers. The speed with which his hand shaped letters and moved across the parchment slowing. The edges of his vision blurring. Words lifting of the page and his eyes growing heavy until everything went black.

When Anduin awoke with a start the windows of his study had gone dark with nightfall. He was lying head down on the deck, supported by his crossed arms, and as he struggled to parse through his muddled thoughts for what had woken him only to realize he wasn’t alone. He sat bolt upright and cast around, all too quickly noticing the glowing red eyes which gazed at him from out of the darkness.

“Nathanos!” He realized back in his chair with a sigh. “You frightened me. What are you doing here?”

“I was told to return for treatment, my Liege.”

“Nightly.” Anduin said. “Yet you haven’t been. So why change now?”

“Because I’ve begun to become less able to suffer the discomfort.” He moved closer. The glow of his eyes growing brighter as the distance closed. Footsteps drawing to a stop beside him. Anduin squinted up through the darkness but the older man almost seemed to blur into the shadows behind him, dooming the effort. “I’ve hope that my Liege can relieve me.”

The way he said it left Anduin momentarily struck dizzy where he sat. Recovering quickly, he reached into the top drawer of the desk and pulled out a book of matches. “Let me light a candle. I can’t see my hand in front of my face like this.”

A match caught with a crackle and a brief whiff of sulfur and the young King used it to light the wick of a nearby candle before waving it out. Hooking a finger into the handle on the holder and lifting it, using his other hand to shelter the flame. “This is hardly the place to see to your wound. Come with me.”

Nathanos didn’t speak but the sound of his footsteps trailed behind him towards the inner door and the Royal Bedchamber beyond. Trying to keep his embarrassed fidgeting to a minimum while motioning towards the bed.

“Have a seat.”

The Blightcaller raised an eyebrow but didn’t speak on the matter as he perched himself on the side of the bed. Continuing to watch him more around the room with hungry eyes. Ultimately setting the candle on the bedside table Anduin returned to stand before him, face steadily tinting red as the older man looked him up and down.

“May I?” Nathanos didn’t reply, either to assent or to object, and after another moment’s hesitance Anduin reached out to quickly undo the buttons on his shirt and push the stiff fabric off his shoulders. Running gentle fingers over the wound before calling the Shadow.

When he was at last able to return his focus elsewhere it was to notice Nathanos staring at him thoughtfully. The hunger never leaving but taking on a curious tint.

“Need something?”

“I simply have a question, my Liege. Regarding a Champion’s reward.” He said. “How much conquest must I earn, King Anduin, to tempt you into bed? This bed, specifically, since we’re here.”

There it was. And once again he could feel his face light fire. “This is revenge, isn’t it?”

“Revenge?”

“For my little comment the other night.”

His eyes narrowed but his voice remained calm. Level. Reaching up to wrap his arms around the young King’s narrow waist and drawn him closer. “No revenge. Simple par for the course. I did promise to make you squirm.”

“You also said I hadn’t yet ‘earned a reward’.” Anduin retorted, though on account of how off kilter he was with the other’s sudden advance the effort failed to regain him the ground that he’d hoped it would.’

Nathanos’ arms tightened around him as he hummed softly. The deep vibration rumbling from the older man’s body and into his own, the strange intimacy of it stealing his breath. “I did say that. But who said?”

“I’d certainly call pleasure a reward.” After a brief moment’s hesitance, wondering whether such a bold move would be permitted, Anduin reached a gloved hand towards Nathanos’ hair. Daring to make an effort to touch the carefully groomed auburn strands, slick and stiff with some sort of pomade.

The Blightcaller seized that hand and brought it down to his face instead. Resting it against his cheek, the new position allowing cold lips unfettered access to the thin skin of his wrist. Yellow ember pupils dilating at the touch of his fluttering pulse in a way which might have struck him with a notion of danger had his mind not been compromised with the ephemeral haze of confused arousal. “You’ve no idea.” There was a huskiness to his voice which hadn’t been there before. Lined face alive with unfettered want. “Do you? ‘Pleasure’ to you is a black and white concept. Something one is either ‘in’ or ‘not in’. Ignorant to the reality that ‘in pleasure’ has it’s degrees and that its highest echelons can only be reached by leveraging a measure of pain.”

“A rather odd way to alert me to the fact that I make the fact that I’m untouched obvious.” Anduin’s face was so hot now that he felt for certain the flesh along his cheekbones would peel away at any moment. “But you’re not wrong.”

“Oh, yes. A virgin.” The blatant hunger intensified. “Better not to drown you, then. Allow us to start things off in the shallow end.”

The Priest’s attempt to speak again was cut off in a yelp of surprise when the arms around him tightened again with such sharpness that the blonde lost his balance and toppled forward into Nathanos’ lap. The Dark Ranger pounced on him before he could even catch his breath. Hands slipping beneath his shirt. Roving along his sides. Seeking to touch every inch of bare flesh that they could reach. Dry lips pressing firm against his. Cold tongue taking immediate advantage of his gasp to invade his mouth, sweeping his own into a doomed battle for control.

Heat. Anduin felt like he was burning. His blood boiling. Heart racing and vision tilting sideways as Nathanos pulled back for a brief moment. Allowing him a chance to breathe before being attacked again. This time affording no resistance. Bracing gloved hands against the larger man’s bare chest to keep himself somehow grounded in reality but failing. Whimpering into the ferocious kiss. Rocking forward in a clumsy, mindless effort to relieve the ever-increasing tightness in the front of his cloth pants.

The larger man allowed this for only long enough for the notion of the action’s connection with relief to click in his mind before he seized his hips, arresting all hope of further motion. Anduin was so addled that the only complaint he could muster was a muddled, affronted noise. A diaphanous silver thread of saliva dripping down his chin as Nathanos moved left along his jawline and pathed to his neck. Lips, teeth and tongue chasing his pulse along his jugular. The sensation lulling him into enough of a sense of security that he thought little of tilting his head to grant him better access.

A growl of satisfaction as his submission was followed almost instantly by a harsh burning sensation. Anduin jerked away in alarm, stumbling slightly and reaching up to the source. His fingertips came away red. Nathanos took in his confusion with hooded eyes, unabashedly licking the blood from his lips. “You bit me!”

“Standard fare, Wrynn. Do calm yourself.” He rose and stalked over to him, backing Anduin against the wall. Grabbing the hand that the Priest attempted to use to cover the wound and examining it languidly. Swiping his thumb across the open flesh, sending a shot of pain fizzing through the smaller blonde. “I barely broke the skin. Could have done far more damage had I _really_ wanted to hurt you.” Again, he bent his head to Anduin’s neck and lapped away the blood beading across the broken skin. The young King’s knees instantly disintegrated. A hand finding its way into his gilt tresses, pulling his head back to bare his throat fully. “It would demand little effort to bite out your throat.” In an effort to keep himself from making any compromising noises which might have alerted the guards stationed in the hall outside, he’s begun to hyperventilate. Biting his bottom lip as the Undead all but held him up, continuing to lick at the shallow wound he’d caused. “I could kill you now. It wouldn’t have to be purposeful. Instinct. A momentary lapse of control. There’d be nothing that anyone could do for you, at that point. You’re aware that death holds you, in more ways than one, and that in large part is responsible for this.”

All ability to keep himself quiet fled him when Nathanos, with purpose, pushed the heel of his hand into his straining tightness. Watching him squirm with those smoldering eyes.

“Your Champion awaits your word, my Liege.” He said. “Shall I relieve you?”

All Anduin could muster was a whine.

Clearly, the Dark Ranger Lord hadn’t had enough of tormenting him as rather than act he raised an eyebrow. “Your orders?”

Panting in an effort to gain the needed breath to speak, the young King forced out a stilted “p-please!”

“Please, what?”

Damn it all, he really was trying to kill him! “Relieve me! I beg you! Please!”

“As my King demands.” Where the oil he used had come from Anduin was too far gone to attempt to puzzle out. All that mattered was the fact that that cold, calloused hand had slipped beneath his waistline and wrapped around his weeping length. Sliding expertly up and down. Thumb dipping into the slit at the tip. Anduin clung to him helplessly, vision reduced to a wash of blurred color, body quaking violently as he was manhandled to his peak.

And held there.

The Priest let out a whine of utter frustration, tears pricking in his eyes as Nathanos’ cold lips found his ear once more. “Beg.” He ordered, sounding a bit out of breath himself. “Again.”

“Please!” He yelped immediately, too desperate now to even muster up embarrassment. All ne knew was the abyss of ecstasy being dangled in front of him and the firm grasp that was all which held him back. “ _Please_ , Nathanos! I can’t-! I need-!” the rest of what he wanted to say melted into an incomprehensible whine.

Apparently, the display of desperation was enough to satisfy the larger man, at least for his first showing, as Nathanos loosened his grip. Two sharp twists later, Anduin’s eyes rolled back in his skull.

The next thing he knew he was lying splayed on the duvet, feeling as if all the bones in his body had somehow been removed, and Nathanos was eyeing him up, casually cleaning his hand with a handkerchief.

“By the Light.” He grumbled, clumsily pushing himself upright. “Did I black out?”

“Possibly.” Nathanos grunted, back to sounding disinterested. Those red eyes following the movement of his hand to the bite mark on his neck. The disinterest vanished the instant the flow of the Light sparked at his fingertips. “Wrynn, what are you doing?”

“I’m healing-.”

“ ** _NO_**!” Nathanos was across the room in mere moments, grabbing his wrist roughly and pulling it away. Red eyes flaring. Startled, Anduin stared up at him wide eyed. “Were you given _permission,_ Wrynn?”

“Permission?” he repeated, jaw dropping.

Nathanos released his wrist in order to seize him by the chin instead. Grip narrowly avoiding leaving bruises. “You agreed that, in this regard, you’d surrender control to me. And that control is absolute. I’ll accept nothing less!” He snapped. “When I mark you, you **_leave it_**!”

A renewed surge of heat flooded through him at the bare possession in his voice. The only though Anduin could muster as the tightness from before threatened to return was _I’m too tired for this._ “I can’t, Nathanos. I don’t have anything with a high enough collar to cover this.” He said, disappointment curling in his chest. A fact which was odd enough to him in and of itself. How could he ever have known that he’d find something so degrading, in some ways, so arousing? Another thing to add to the list of proclivities unbecoming of his station. “Neither of us can afford this getting out.”

The Dark Ranger Lord examined him for a drawn-out moment, eyes narrowed, before he finally spoke again. “I’ll allow it,” he rumbled, “on the condition that, unless given explicitly permission otherwise, all marks you _can_ hide you let well alone.”

“Interesting you’d be so hung up on marks that only you and I would know were there.”

“Hardly.” Nathanos’ smiled was ferocious. “Considering that the only one who needs to know whom you belong to, Wrynn, is you.”

Anduin swallowed thickly, opening and closing his mouth a few times before remembering how to speak. “I-I suppose I can agree to that.”

“Good boy.” He released him, fingers parting from his skin only with reluctance, and stepped back. Watching intently as the Priest resumed what he’d been doing before being interrupted. The broken skin sealing itself shut, leaving no trace of the bite wound behind.

An air of disappointment which almost seemed offended still lingered around him.

“So,” Anduin cleared his throat, shifting in discomfort, “you consider _that_ that shallow end?”

“Indeed, my Liege. What we just did is as Vanilla as I can ever be asked to go with you. Anything further and you might get it in your pin sized head that there could one day be more than sex between us.”

“I’m sure Hell will freeze over before you can be moved to consider me anything beyond tolerable.” And freezing Hell was precisely what Anduin had set out to do. Not that Nathanos needed to be aware of that fact.  “Out of curiosity, if this is ‘vanilla’, then what’s at the far end? Dark chocolate?”

Nathanos didn’t appear impressed. The young King’s grin grew wider.

“Stracciatella tomorrow, then?” he batted his eyelashes, feeling foolish and well aware his face was red. “You do need to return so that I can see to your shoulder, at the very least once more. And it would only require a bit more time spared for us to…have desert.”

Whatever answer the Blightcaller might have made was interrupted by a sharp knock on the Royal Chamber’s door. The pair jumped apart immediately as if scalded, turning in time to stare at the bedroom door.

“We should really make like we were in the study. There’s very little reasonable excuse for us to be in my bedroom. Certainly not in this position.” The Priest’s blue eyes darted to Nathanos’ bare chest and away against just as quickly. “And put your shirt back on.”

The Dark Ranger bent to retrieve his shirt from where it had been discarded on the floor, buttoning the front with nimble fingers while watching Anduin fuss in front of the mirror in an attempt to make himself look less as if he’d just been ravaged.

Satisfied, tucking a lock of blonde hair behind his ear, Anduin swiftly ducked out of the bedroom. Nathanos followed, making himself at home in a dark corner of the room while the young King opened the door.

“Mathias?”

The Spymaster stepped inside with a dour expression, looking as if he’d only just stepped out of the portal to Boralus. “Your Majesty,” he said grimly, “there’s something of which you need be made aware concerning Saurfang.”


	16. Ill Tidings

               “What about Saurfang?” Anduin asked, all traces of the exhaustion that he’d felt fleeing him in favor of a momentary surge of wakefulness. He didn’t need to look to know that the Dark Ranger Lord was paying rapt attention to their conversation while attempting to look nonchalant.

“When you released the Orcish Overlord I dispatched a handful of my men to trail him. To make certain, as ordered, that neither he nor the Horde got any ‘ideas’.” The Spymaster said. “They ceased reporting about a day ago. After a brief search, they turned up dead.”

“Dead?” Anduin repeated, horrified. Nathanos had straightened up, all pretense gone. Red eyes sharp. “What do you mean?”

“Generally,” the Dark Ranger drawled, “’dead’ can only mean so many things.”

Both King and Spymaster ignored his comment.

“I recommend sending another contingent, both to continue monitoring the Orc and to eliminate the threat.”

“Your people won’t be ‘eliminating’ anything.” Nathanos snapped, voice low in his throat. “It was a Dark Ranger that killed your men, mark my words. Send more and they’ll die too. You’ll achieve nothing more than buying them more time to catch up with and kill the Orc.”

“Then what would you suggest, Blightcaller? Since you know the Dark Rangers so very well.”

Nathanos stared Mathias down for a long moment before redirecting his attention to Anduin. “I’ll go.” He said. “I’ll hunt them down and deal with them. And they’ll have no idea they’ve become the prey until it’s too late for them to crawl back to Zandalar.”

“No.” Anduin’s refusal prompted both men to look up at him in surprise. “I’m aware that it’s fully possible that what you say is true. That I very well may be sending those agents in to die. I don’t take it lightly. But you’re still injured, Nathanos. I won’t send you in before I have to. Not until that wound is gone.”

“My Liege-.”

“You should have reported in nightly, as you were told.” Anduin said. “May this serve as a lesson to obey your healer. Especially when he’s also your King.”

The Dark Ranger Lord relented with an unwilling grumble, folding his arms across his broad chest and reclining against the wall.

“Your orders, King Wrynn?” the Spymaster asked.

“Dispatch a second regiment to catch up with Overlord Saurfang. Warn them to take particular precautions and to be fully prepared to meet with a Horde force, though of what sort is unclear.” He said, propping himself on the desk behind him. His earlier exhaustion beginning to return in a steady trickle. “Should anything similar happen I expect to be informed immediately.”

“Of course.” Mathias said, nodding. “I’ll see it done immediately.”

“Godspeed.” As the Rogue exited the room Anduin allowed the sigh he’d been containing to escape. Reaching up a hand to the bridge of his nose.”

“You should sleep.” Nathanos rumbled from his corner, not looking at him.

The young King shook his head. “I can’t. Not now. Not after this.” He said. “Perhaps in a bit.”

“A bit?” he repeated. “And what is it that you expect to do in the meantime?”

“Find peace to settle my mind.” He said. Nathanos was looking at him as if he’d suddenly started speaking Demonic but rather than explain what he’d meant by such a statement Anduin simply said “accompany me?”

“If only to make certain that you don’t take a header down the staircase in your exhaustion.” The Dark Ranger Lord pushed himself off the wall against which he’d been leaning and started towards the door. Affording Anduin a full, thoroughly appreciated glimpse of his broad back. In spite, or perhaps because of, what they’d been doing just minutes before he found himself wondering what Nathanos’ back would look like without the layer of fabric in the way. What would it feel like to lay his hands against that cold skin? Trace his fingertips along the raised ridges of scar tissue adorning it. He had to mentally shake himself to clear his mind. “Lead the way to wherever it is that you ‘find peace’.”

They exited the Keep and made their way through Stormwind’s darkened streets. Ending up, ultimately, outside the Cathedral of Holy Light. Nathanos’ eye roll was practically audible but Anduin didn’t pay the matter any mind. Pushing open the door and stepping into the warm, incense scented darkness on the other side. The lantern that he held the only light to illuminate their path up to the altar.

Once he reached the front of the room Anduin set the lantern down at his feet and, with some pain on account of his bad knee, the young King lowered himself onto his feet. Nathanos hung back, watching him.

“How long?”

Silence for a moment before the Blightcaller asked “what?”

“How long has it been since you paid any mind to the Light, Nathanos?”

The older man sneered. “I grew up a farmer, Wrynn. There was far too much _real_ work to be done for any of us to waste our time with fantasy!” Not that that had stopped Stephon. Or put a damper on his damned dream of becoming a Knight of the Silver Hand, once day. He could still remember how the boy would perch on the track of fence which lined the place where their property met with the road every day to watch the Paladin’s go by. How he’d prattle on about them for hours on end afterwards until Nathanos nearly bent to the temptation to tie his mouth shut with sturdy twine just to find a moment’s silence. Yet the excitable child, even through his annoyance never failed to wrench an almost smile from his elder cousin. The man he’d called a brother and spared no thought to trusting.

“You’re troubled. I can sense it. Something’s stuck in your soul like a thorn and you can’t pull it out on your own. Perhaps turning to the Light will sooth at least a measure of your disquiet.” Anduin said. “And what’s the worst that could happen? If I’m correct in my belief, you’ll find redemption. A lifting of your burdens. If you’re correct, you’ll feel a bit foolish for a moment but no harm will have been done.”

“Redemption?” Nathanos repeated, sounding snide. “My kind are far beyond such things. You waste your time.”

“I disagree.” Anduin turned his head to peer over his shoulder at Nathanos, now pinch faced and disbelieving. Arms crossed and shoulders set defensively. “I believe that no one is beyond redemption should they truly wish for it. All of us may find ourselves set upon a different path to reach it, and some might be longer and more arduous than others, but each end in the same place.”

“The Light.” He drawled, lip curling.

“The Light.” Anduin echoed, nodding.

“You’d really say a prayer for the damned, Wrynn?”

“Gladly.” He smiled. “Would you like that done now?” 

Nathanos scoffed. “I think I’ll take a raincheck on that particular band of stupidity.” He said. “Now, find your ‘peace’ so that I can see you to bed and go about more important business.”

Despite his assertion of wanting Anduin to finish his business quickly the Dark Ranger spoke again only a moment later.

“You’re quick to center in on the supposed ‘troubles’ of those around you but don’t acknowledge the fact that you’re far form immune to such things.” He sounded almost aggressive. Pulling himself from his prayers, Anduin refocused his attention fully on the other man. “What is it that troubles _you_?”

“I’ve made no secret since my father’s death of the fact that I lack faith in my ability to lead my people as well as he did. Despite assurances from Valeera, Genn, Jaina and others…those doubts remain.”

“You’ll never be fit to be a leader if you doubt yourself so much.”

Anduin sighed. “Perhaps you’re right.” He said. “I’m sure you think ill of many of my decisions.”

“As your hound, my Liege, it’s my place to obey. Not to question.” He said. “Your will is my command. In any decision that you make you’ve my unwavering support.”

“You’re not a hound, Nathanos. Nor would I want you to be.” He said. “You’re a man. You’ve a right to your own decisions. A right to disagree. To have your own opinions. I hope that by the time the war ends you’ve come to realize that.”

Once again, he sneered. Turning his back. “Go back to praying, Priest!”

Sighing, Anduin did exactly that.

They only lingered in the cathedral for about an hour before Anduin’s exhaustion caught up with him. Nathanos, in reticent silence, marched him back up to his chambers and after depositing him safely in bed vanished again to parts unknown. Anduin curled up beneath the heavy covers and at last allowed his body’s need to sleep to take him.

It was only a few hours later that he was nudged awake by a regretful Valeera. Blurry with sleep, Anduin blinked up at his sister with tired eyes.

“I’m sorry to wake you,” she said softly through the hush of early morning, brushing his bangs back from his forehead. “I know you need sleep, desperately, but Mathias said that he’d been ordered to report immediately should something happen. Though he didn’t specify what ‘something’ was.”’

Anduin felt his heart drop into his stomach as, sluggishly, he dragged himself upright on protesting limbs. Swinging his legs out of bed. “I think I can guess.” He said, teetering and regaining his balance before shuffling towards his bedroom door. “Throne room?”

“No. Study.” Valeera skipped around him to the door to swing it open, clearly nervous. “You don’t have to go far.”

And it was true. Mathias was standing before the sturdy oaken desk, arms folded behind his back and tawny eyes alert. Nathanos, too, had returned from wherever he’d vanished to and watched the matter playing out before him with hooded eyes.

“King Anduin.”

“Spymaster.” He trudged around to the other side of the desk and dropped into the chair on the other side. “It happened again, then.”

“In record time.” Mathias said grimly. “Those were some of my best men. Both times. I believe the Blightcaller is correct in thinking a Dark Ranger is behind this.”

“And you’re recommending I should allow him to go after them?” Anduin said with a sigh. “As he wanted.”

“What better counter to a Dark Ranger than one of their own?” He said. “And those who breed animals can be known to take on some of their traits. Hounds need to run on occasion.”

“That is hardly called for!” More irritable than he otherwise would be on account of how tired he was.

“Of course, King Wrynn.” Mathias’ reply was stiff as he watched the blonde scrub desperately at tired eyes.

“I’ll admit he’s correct that I’ve been growing…restless.” Though Nathanos was addressing him he was glaring dead at the Rogue. “I beg my King allow me to see to this. My wounded shoulder, I assure you, will barely slow me down. And if such will settle you, I can promise to immediately return for my treatment upon the completion of my mission.”

Anduin sighed again. Rubbing harder at the bridge of his nose. This was far from the solution he’d wanted to pursue but he couldn’t see much other choice.

“Very well. On account of a certain trust in your judgement and the already present loss of life and manpower, Nathanos, I’ll leave the matter of hunting down and dispatching the threat to you.” He said. “Mathias, find Saurfang. Determine both his safety and what it is he might currently be up to.”

“Of course, my Lord.” With a last distrustful glance in the other man’s direction the Spymaster made his exit.

“Where might you be going?”

Halfway through rising to his feet the blonde paused and looked over at him. “I’m sorry?”

“Where,” Nathanos repeated, “might you be going, Wrynn? Because if your answer is anything other than ‘back to bed’ I might have to enlist Sanguinar as accomplice to restraining you.”

“My court-.”

“Perish your ‘court’ you can barely stand!” His sudden snarl made both of them jump, Anduin toppling back into his chair. Valeera’s ears pinned back but she didn’t intervene. “I’ll do my best to return within a fortnight. By that time, I expect these,” he reached out a hand, running his thumb along the shadows which cradled his eyes, the motion almost tender for all it lasted barely a moment, “to have lessened if not disappeared.”

There was authority threaded through those words. The statement plainly straddling the line between the two sides of their relationship. Anduin had to restrain himself form asking after a punishment if he failed to comply.

“I’ll say it again that the living need their rest. The best that you can do for the Alliance now is to sleep.”

 “He’s right.” Yet again, Valeera sounded horrified to have to admit to agreeing with him in any capacity. “In your current state I’m surprised you’re even half way functioning. Ridgewell and his goons can manage for a few days on their own. If something were to happen that required your attention, or your presence on the battle field, what then?”

Anduin sighed. Her points were water tight. And, he had to admit, that returning to bed sounded heavenly at the moment. “Inform the House of Nobles that court will resume next week and they’re expected to be present at the usual times.” At his acquiescence Valeera let out a sigh of relief. “Safe travels, Blightcaller.”

Nathanos left the room without a reply.

“Come on.” Valeera placed a hand on his arm and gently pulled him to his feet. Letting him lean heavily against her when his knees almost gave out. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

Without complain he allowed himself to be half-dragged into his bedroom and heaved onto the bed. Numb, heavy limbs seeking, and ultimately finding, the lip of the covers and pulling them back. But even sprawled across the pillows sleep wouldn’t come. Anduin stared blankly up at the ceiling overhead, eyes dry with exhaustion yet refusing to close.

Now it was Valeera’s turn to sigh. “You’re worried.” She said. “For him.”

“How can I not be?” he turned his head to look at her, his lack of energy reducing normally bright eyes to a matte cornflower. “There’s no way for me to know if the Dark Ranger behind the killings of the SI:7 operatives is ‘in on it’, as it were, and even if they are it likely won’t stop him getting hurt. It didn’t stop Sylvanas.” The blonde returned his gaze to the ceiling. Watching the play of shadows there from the wan predawn light filtering in through the windows. “I think I’ve started to reach him. And for all I know, now, he may not come back.”

“Considering how against it you were at the beginning,” Valeera said, “You’ve really let yourself catch feelings haven’t you?”

“It’s what I was afraid of.” He told her. The dark curtain over his vision dropping just that little bit lower. “Light willing, he’ll catch them too. And in time.”

“Light willing.” Valeera echoed, though she still didn’t seem pleased with the thought. “Why couldn’t you have picked a nicer man?”

“Perhaps there’s some truth to what they’ve said about opposites.” His speech had started to noticeably slur.

“Perhaps.” She said, shaking her head. “Get some sleep.”

“G’night ‘Leera.”

“Goodnight, little brother.”

Anduin was asleep before the door clicked closed.


	17. Hunter Hunted

Boots didn’t fully understand the concept of what the Two Legs called ‘time’ but she did know that it was either very late or very early when Master returned. She opened both eyes as the door swung shut with a click and raised her head. Tail tapping against the sheets. Master, lined face as always set into a glare, didn’t acknowledge her. Boots tilted her head, ears cocking. He was bothered by something, though she wasn’t certain it was something that she would understand. Two Leg problems were rarely simple.

Master himself was a Two Legs and he didn’t look like he understood it either. It seemed to annoy him, that lack of understanding.

Boots placed her head down on her paws, watching Master pull off the cloth fur he wore over his chest-not that she could blame him when his own fur, though thick on his face and head, was sparse at best everywhere else and didn’t look like it did much to keep him warm-and discarded it on the foot of the bed. Busying himself with donning his metal fur instead. The hard shell that he used for defense rattled as it slid over his skin.

Keeping her eyes on him as he struggled with pulling his bracers on over his Two Leg paws, Boots pushed herself forwards on her stomach until she reached the cloth fur and snuffled curiously at the fabric. Ears perking up. Master’s scent was mixed with the bright smell of the Anduin Two Legs who’d given her her Two Legs name and was keen on taking care of her the way that house pets were taken care of. She wasn’t a house pet and had anyone else tried such a thing she’d have had their Two Leg paws for a snack, but…he was special.

And, now, officially Master’s mate.

As Master bent and lifted his heavy weapon from where it leaned against the wall Boots whined to catch his attention. Red eyes shifted over to her as he turned his head.

“Awake, are you?” he grunted at her. She snorted at him. Aware that he couldn’t really understand her, Boots didn’t attempt a more complex method of communication. “From the way I’ve seen you running around lately I take it you’re well enough to accompany me in tracking down a former colleague?”

Boots barked at him and heaved herself upright, wagging her tail. Master nodded and turned towards the door. She leapt down off the bed and tottered after him, swiftly being scooped up and dropped into her bag. Poking her head out of the flap, she glared at the guards they passed and peered out at the city’s darkened streets.

Bloodwing chattered at them sharply and she barked at it in return. Once again, Master ignored her and ordered the bat down from its perch. Pulling himself up onto its perch. Pulling himself up onto it back and forcing it into the slowly brightening dawn.

Shuffling about until she found a more comfortable position, Boots watched the trees skin by below them. Enjoying the wind rushing by as they flew.

The travel wasn’t long, to her disappointment.

They descended through the thick canopy not far from the City Gates, landing beside the opening of what might have been a sewer pipe. A murky pond had formed from the runoff, filled with crocolisk, and though the flow had since lessened to little more than a trickle the ground at the mouth of the pipe was still a slick of mud. Footprints, large and heavy, had been driven into the soft earth almost as if something large had used the pipe as a means if escaping the city unseen.

Master dismounted Bloodwing and dropped to the earth. Feet squishing into the marshy soil as he approached the mouth of the pipe. Reaching into her bag and lifting her out. Setting her down in the cold damp and indicating the nearest print.

Pressing her nose to the earth, ears swiveling back at the cold discomfort, she sorted through the scents she found there. Earth and tepid water. Leather and two legs of two different kinds: ‘Humans’ like the Anduin Two Legs and then another king which she’d heard referred to as ‘Orc’. Then, slightly fresher, she could smell one of the blue skinned red eyed Two Legs that were Master’s own kind as well as some of her own. Two of the few older hounds who’d survived the destruction of their home.

Master seemed to have noticed it as well, because among the mess of prints crisscrossing the ground were the unmistakable mark of paws. Displeasure was immediately evident in his posture. The thought that others were daring to challenge his position in the pack as alpha was incredibly offensive.

Reaching into the smaller pack at his belt, not the one that she’d been carried in, he pulled out a small biscuit and called her over. Holding it between the claws on his gauntlets and offering it to her.

She didn’t think she’d earned a treat and knew that this biscuit in particular must have had some function though what she couldn’t guess, ultimately, she supposed didn’t matter.

Taking the biscuit, the next thing Boots knew she was looking down at Master from a height about equivalent to the hood beasts which the Two Legs called ‘horses’. Boots knew that she’d be much bigger than she was one day, even bigger than Goliath, who came up just passed Master’s hip at his shoulder, but not that it would happen so suddenly. Or so soon. The biscuit must have been some sort of magic treat he’d made, or purchased somewhere.

“That will last a couple of days.” Master seemed to have recognized her surprise. Of course he would. He was a good Master. Paid attention to things that the other Two Legs, who thought that they were just animals, didn’t. Gripping the base of her horn with one hand, he gave her a firm shake. Extending gruff praise before swinging himself up onto her back. “Find them!”

Boots didn’t need to be told twice, bounding forward the moment she felt certain Master’s grip on her ruff was secure. Ascending a shallow hill onto dry, springy grass and dried leaves. Leaving the murky crocolisk infested pool of run off behind and weaving between the thickening trees, keeping her nose to the ground, she pathed eastward towards the Redridge Mountains.

Through the trees, a lumber mill briefly became visible. Swarming with lower Two Legs hard at cork cutting and hauling wood for their Alpha. A thin, severe woman whom was many Alphas down from Master’s new mate, who seemed to be the High Alpha of the Stormwind Human pack. And of the much larger pack which she’d heard referred to as ‘the Alliance’.

Boots knew that Master’s old pack had been called ‘the Horde’ and that he was of the Forsaken Two Legs but of more than that she was too young to be certain.

The sight of the lumber mill was the first to fade. Followed by the scent of ash and saw dust. But the sound of axes biting into wood and the whir of saw blades hung on the wind for quite some time as they climbed into the foothills. The trees thinning out to be replaced by grasses and scrubby brush, scattered with the occasional stand of broken boulders. Condors soared overhead in the cloud scattered sky, now deep cerulean with late afternoon. The massive spiders, though lower set and heavier built than those native to Tirisfal Glades, gleaned little of her notice but the tusk faced pig creature they came across rooting in the ground, slowed her to a stop in surprise. And it took Master’s sharp command forward to refocus her on the task. Continuing forward along the fading scent trail of her fellow hounds, which in turn had been following the trail of the Orc which was now too old for her to fully make out.

The road was all but fenced off around the foot of a guard tower. A Human Two Legs with a long scope held to his eyes stood atop it, looking out over the land below. More Humans, all in metal fur like Master though theirs was made up of plates instead of small circular links, were stationed along where the blockade met with the road. All of them stared as they barreled passed but none tried to stop them.

Better they hadn’t. As much as she didn’t doubt the Anduin Two Legs wouldn’t have been appreciative of such behavior, she’d probably have just run them over.

The trail that they were following broke away from the path quickly, cutting a meandering trail up around the base of a towering stand of boulders and across a track of flat land overrun with Gnolls. The baying beasts attempted to run after them but stood no chance of catching up. Not that that seemed to stop Master from making a point of filling those who dared to try with arrows.

It was nearing evening when they reached a towering cliff face, overlooking a deep lake and a little town sitting on its bank. Here the scents circled and doubled back on themselves, the ground scuffed and scattered with faint prints. Master dismounted, pathing across the area a handful of times. Examining the signs which had been left behind. Finally drawing to a pause and gazing out towards the south east.

It was clear from his posture that he’d worked out where they had gone even when she couldn’t.

“Well done.” He said to her roughly, though she could make out the pride in his voice. Boots wagged her tail to let him know his praise was noticed. He gripped her horn again and shook it and she snorted at him in reply. She liked being big, and the sooner that she could be big for real the better. Though it would make sitting in the lap of her Master’s mate considerably more difficult, given that he seemed rather small for an Alpha Human. “Rest for the night. We’ll continue at dawn.”

Master didn’t ever seem to need to rest and she wanted to tell him that she didn’t either. But her limbs were numb from hours of exertion and her head was heavy. A large yawn escaped her and, admitting defeat, she dropped to the earth beside the boulder Master had propped himself against. Nudging his hand until, with a huff and a half-serious glare, he set it atop her head.

He didn’t look at her again after that, knees drawn to his chest and his other arm wrapped loosely around them, gaze directed down the road towards the town below the rise they sat on, or else up into the star-studded night as it grew steadily darker. Boots took the offered chance to observe him.

Wide brow. Thin nose, if slightly crooked from injuries which had since healed. Defined jaw line, covered in the same thick auburn fur his head was. He didn’t have a long muzzle or sharp ears but, for a Two Legs, Boots supposed he was attractive. His mate, with his long golden fur that only seemed to be on his head instead of his face and his softer features, certainly seemed to think so. Looked at him in an adoring way that made it clear he cared, which was part of the reason-along side the generous scratches-that she liked him so much.

When Master looked at his mate, she saw many things. Sometimes he looked hungry, though not always in the way that he should; sometimes it was more like what one of her own kind might look like when they caught sight of a rabbit. Sometimes he looked frustrated or confused. Sometimes, though she couldn’t fathom why, he looked sad.

Was he thinking about his mate now? She couldn’t tell. Did he miss him? Their relationship was rather new, they hadn’t even started denning together, but the Anduin Two Legs had missed Master while he’d been away fighting in the place called Dark Shore. Had spoken of worrying for him. So surely, he must.

Boots had been very young when he’d died, but she still had vague memories of her father. His Two Leg name had been Omen and, unlike her mother, he’d been blue. Distant, usually, but keen enough to show affection when no one else was around to see. Maybe Master was like that. Maybe they curled up together, touched noses and licked each other’s ears when they were alone.

Bleak had said that he’d thrown himself to their attackers after her mother had been killed.  She hoped that Master wouldn’t end up going the same way.

Boots wasn’t certain when she’d fallen asleep but Master nudged her awake as dawn was once again staining the sky grey. Mounting up once more, he directed her towards the south east and down a rutted trail which looked long abandoned. The Trail led into a ragged canyon cut from pale grey stone, hung with thick ropes of webbing spun by the monstrous spiders which scuttled overhead. There was a charge of magic in the air which made her fur stand on end, so thick it was almost oppressive, a presence in and of itself, and only seemed to grow thicker as they passed into the chasm itself. Master shifted on her back, pulling down his bow and knocking an arrow, but gave no other signs of discomfort. Legs clenched tight around her sides to hold himself in place while keeping his weapon aimed.

The deeper into the chasm they went the thicker the magic became. Reaching the point of being utterly suffocating as they passed within the shadow of an old decaying tower made of stone, lessening as they drew away before finally vanishing all together.

Master returned his weapon to his back and his grip to her fur. They left the canyon entirely moments later, bounding out into a foul-smelling swamp where she found their quarry’s scent again.

Here Master tugged her to a stop again and dismounted. Offering her another biscuit which returned her to her natural size; no doubt in an effort not to alert their prey to their presence too soon. Directing her to continue along the trail with a click of his tongue, they made their way forward on foot.

It wasn’t long before they caught up with them. Boots stopping in her tracks and snarling only to be promptly shushed. Pulling down his bow again and knocking an arrow, Master crept forward through the glistening mud and anemic looking underbrush. What seemed like moments later, their quarry came into view.

A small group of ten, led by one of the knife eared Two Legs whom had been hunters for the Horde pack like her Master. Trotting to either side of her, hackles raised and glowing eyes forward, were Bleak and Goliath.

Master took two steps forward and, before Boots could think to attempt to evade him, she was being picked up and deposited once more in her bag. Her soft whine of protest ignored. Pulling the strap from over his shoulder, Master hung it on a sturdy branch. Likewise feigning ignorance to the indignant look she gave him once managing to stick her head up out of the flap.

Without the magic biscuit she wasn’t much use in a fight, she realized, but that didn’t make her happy about being left behind the watch her Master close in alone. Crouched in the brush. Red eyes steady on the pointy eared Hunter.

“We’ve got him cornered now.” She said, her own gaze fixated on the lopsided cabin which was barely visible through swamp from where they stood. “The Alliance has failed in their efforts to stop us, and a third attempt won’t make it here in time. In the Dark Lady’s name this traitor, at the very least, will die today!”

Master took leisurely aim at the nearest Two Legs and fired his bow. The arrow whistling through the uncomfortably warm air before meeting its mark with a low thud. The struck Forsaken immediately collapsed and the others whirled around only to be met with a hail of arrows which felled the majority before they could even take a step. Their leader cursed in the language only Master and the other pointed ears ever seemed to use and Ordered Goliath and Bleak forward. They bounded towards him with vicious barks and bared teeth only to skid to a stop at the sight of who it was they’d been sent to attack, confused.

“You’ve no talent with Hounds, Clea. You should have known better than to make an effort at using anything of mine.”

“Blightcaller!” She spat, eyes narrowing into a glare. “Show yourself!”

Sneering, Master did precisely that. Thinking nothing of stepping out of the thin brush, expression taunting. Bow lowered but still aimed.

“Sylvanas sent you to find a traitor.” A statement, not a question. Calmly, Master stepped over a Death Guard’s splayed limbs. Bleak and Goliath panted at his side.

“And I found two.” She snapped back, ferocious. “How _dare you_ betray the Banshee Queen after all she’s done for you! All that you claimed to feel! How _dare you_ ever compare her to that bastard Arthas! And to go to Wrynn? A self-righteous Light wielder cut from the same cloth as wretch who did this to us? Don’t tell me you’re really such a fool as to think the Alliance would ever take you back!”

“My service to the Lion Seat is temporary and to my own benefit.” Boots begged to differ. She wasn’t about to allow Master to leave his mate when it was so very obvious that the Anduin Two Legs was good for him. “When this war ends and Sylvanas has been dealt with, one way or another, I’ll be on my way.”

“You’ll not be going anywhere!” She snarled. “I hope you’ve made your peace with the Little Lion because you won’t be leaving this swamp!”

“Quite the contrary, Clea. The only one of us who won’t be leaving is you.” Master said. “Melka!”

Recognizing the attack command but helpless to act on it trapped in her bag Boots let out the loudest bark that she could muster and rocked the bag on the branch that it hung from. Bleak and Goliath rounded on the Dark Ranger with ferocious snarls and Clea, eyes wide, attempted to raise her bow only for Master to shoot it from her hands. She reached for the blade at her side but didn’t get the chance to draw it before the other hounds were on her.

Master looked on in passive approval as his opponent was torn apart. The shrieks and the sound of ripping flesh at last drawing the attention of the occupants of the little cabin. Not just an Orc but one of the tusked Troll Two Legs as well.

Bleak and Goliath turned on the newcomers as soon as they noticed them but were called to heel when Master raised a hand. The Orc’s eyes ricocheted from the torn form to the Hounds and then to Master, who cocked his head and fixed him in a challenging glare.

“The Royal Imbecile’s Spymaster should be arriving soon. Given that he’s an assassin, not a tracker, it’s no surprise Shaw’s the last to arrive.” Turning his back on them, he returned to the tree where he’d hung her bag and lifted it down again. Draping it back over his broad shoulders before drawing a blue and white stone from within his metal fur. “I’m returning to Stormwind and reporting success to King Wrynn.”

Whistling harshly to the two larger hounds, he reached down to catch a firm hold on both of them before turning the stone thrice in hand and vanishing in a flash of blue light.

No sooner had the pale glow faded did Zekhan turn to Saurfang with wide eyes. “D-Dat was-!”

“The Blightcaller. Yes.” He grunted, staring in the direction of where the Dark Ranger Lord had vanished a moment more before glancing down at the hound torn body and shaking his head. “He claims to have left Sylvanas’ authority, to hold misgivings regarding the choices made, and Wrynn’s taken him in. I think he’s a viper and that the young King will soon come to regret picking him up bare handed.” At last turning his back on the scene Varok began to make his way back towards the cabin’s open door. “Let’s head back inside to wait for that damned Rogue.”

 


	18. Lesson Number One

The hearthstone had deposited them back in the Mage Tower, still buzzing with activity as evening turned to night. His older hounds, two more of few survivors, looked around in confusion and Boots squirmed impatiently in her canvas prison but Nathanos paid no mind to any of them. Simply readjusting his quiver and striding forwards towards the ramp leading out of the tower.

The wary eyes of Mages watched him as he passed, and the hungry gaze of his larger hounds watched them in return, but wisely made no effort to stop him and they reached the base of the tower moments later.

Crickets chirped in the shadows offered by the numerous gardens which scattered the area. The night air smelled like flowers and held a hint of coming rain. Distant laughter carried over the roof tops from one of the many pubs which lined the Dwarven District.

It had been a long time since he’d been in a Human city. At least, one filled with living Humans. The thing that he’d once been, what seemed like more than a life time ago. Being a farmer, most of his time had been spent out in the country. Under the open sky. Tilling the earth and minding the animals and breeding the mastiffs which the Lordaeric Royal Guard had favored as companions. Annually, during the harvest season, when the grass and trees changed color and the ground began to grow hard with cold, he’d hitch their two aged horses to their rickety wooden cart and ferry the fruits of their yearly labor into nearby Andorhal to sell for coin.

Rarely, and largely for the benefit of Stephon who at that time had still been young enough to find wonder in such foolish things, he’d take his cousin into Stratholme for the Winterveil celebrations. The last time they’d gone had been just months before the Culling; the catalyst of the horrific series of events which ultimately destroyed their kingdom and everyone in it.

He'd missed home and family while away in Quel’thalas. Something which Sylvanas, back when she’d still been living, had both sympathized with and given him trouble for. He hadn’t thought of such things since he’d fallen to the Scourge. Fallen in the failed effort to protect them both. And yet now, as he carved his way through the vibrant streets, sorrow and a full recognition of loss closed in for the first time in years. The stab of it between his ribs as sharp as if he really were still alive. Accompanied by the phantom panic which had chased him back to the Marris stead when he’d first heard of the madness which had swept across the land where he’d been born. Grief gnawing into his heart like fire melting a hole through decades of solid ice.

It would all refreeze, he felt certain, once he was well away from Wrynn. Once the mission that he’d been assigned had been carried out and the young lion’s blood coated his hands, everything would all go back to normal.

That thought didn’t fill him with the relief that it should have.

Passing through the gates of the Keep and making his way out of the direct line of sight of the guard Nathanos reached into the bag at his side and set Boots down on the rough flagstones. “Take them up to the room.” He told her when he was met with glowing eyes. “I’m going to go and see if Wrynn did as he was told.”

With a soft snort Boots toddled up the stairs towards the propped open doors, Bleak and Goliath trailing after once Nathanos motioned them to do so.

Taking a moment to determine whether or not he was being directly observed by any of the guards stationed around the area, the Dark Ranger Lord slipped into the deepening shadows and skirted the base of the building until he found his way beneath the Royal Chamber’s balcony. Digging the talons of his gauntlets into the small spaced between the massive stones which made up the building, bracing his foot against another brick, he hoisted himself up off the ground. Scuttling up to the balcony with ease and pulling himself over the railing.

The folding doors had been left slightly ajar to allow for a breeze to permeate the room beyond. The light of a single candle flickered against the silken curtains. Nathanos eased the door open to prevent the hinges from creaking, pushed the curtains aside and stepped into the room.

Red eyes scanned the space, shifting from the lit candle to the half empty glass of wine set on the table to the young King stretched out on the couch in a dead sleep. One of his arms was folded beneath his head. The other was crossed over his chest, clutching the book that he’d been reading when he’d yet again succumbed to his exhaustion after leaving his bed when he shouldn’t have.

For a moment Nathanos stood there, staring. Inexplicably transfixed by the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Horrified to realize something tender was attempting to take root in his chest like a parasitic weed.

Hissing under his breath, he stepped abruptly forward and snuffed out the candle. Intent on leaving immediately before the tenderness could reach a point he couldn’t squash it, Nathanos turned to make a hasty exit only to hear the gentle shift of fabric as the young King woke, pushing himself upright with a noise of confusion.

“Nathanos?” when had he become familiar enough with his figure to immediately make him out in the dark? “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to report success, my Liege.” He pulled his gaze away from him when the motion of the blonde’s shadowed form shifted position, disturbed at the ease with which his mind supplied the image of the young blonde pawing at his eyes. “And because I was ordered to return for my final treatment. But if you’re too tired-.”

“No need.” Anduin waved the unspoken notion that he leave away and heaved himself up off the couch that he’d been lying on. “Please. Sit. I’ll relight the candle and see about being able to remove that thread.”

In spite of having inhabited the room for long enough that he should have known he lay out without a need for eyes he still managed to run into the corner of the table Shin meeting wood with a low thud and a soft curse. After scuffing around briefly in the bowels of a drawer for a book of matches he lit a candle and then retrieved his little bag of medical supplies before returning to the couch. Thinking nothing of reaching out and resting a hand on his chest.

“Sit, please.”

Nathanos’ first reaction was to break his fingers. Punish the Priest for daring to touch him so cavalierly and without permission. Instead, stamping down the urge, he did as he was told. Removing the mail chest piece and draping it over the arm of a nearby chair.

Anduin set the candle down on the table where it had been sitting before, Anduin opened the pack and knelt in front of him. Carefully examining the partially healed wound with probing, gentle fingers before once more drawing on the Shadow. Sealing the last of the broken skin to itself and leaving behind yet another shiny, silver scar.

“That should be the last of it.” Delicately wielding a clip and tweezers Anduin snipped the knot and pulled the thread which had been holding the open flesh together free. Gently mopping away the blood which welled up from the holes where the thread had been.

“We’ll have to find a new excuse, then, for your ‘dessert’.” Those red eyes bore into him hungrily, watching the blush spread across his cheeks. “It will yet be some times before the cabin is properly outfitted for ‘archery lessons’.”

“I’m King. You’re my Champion. We’re merely checking in.” He tried to control his breathing and only partially succeeded. “What more excuse do I need?”

“If such is as you say.” Nathanos allowed, continuing to leer at him. “Stracciatella, I believe, was tonight’s request?”

“Is it being offered?”

His smile was dangerous, close to a sneer. “Tell me, Anduin, do you know what a safe word is?”

“A word. That’s…safe?” Eloquent. “Though I suppose that it would depend on the situation what it’s safe from.”

“Imbecile.” Though it wasn’t terribly sharply that he said it. “A safe word is an important aspect of our…lessons. Especially if we’re to move on to the more…dark flavors. At their core, they’re easily remembered and prior agreed upon code words or phrases used, most commonly by submissives, to cease or slow an activity when it approaches a boundary. A moral boundary. An emotional trigger. A pain threshold, what have you. We’ll start with two and expand if need be. Select one which means ‘slow down’ and another which means ‘stop’.”

“I can’t just pick ‘stop’?” Even saying it made Anduin fell stupid.

“’No’ and ‘stop’ aren’t ideal safe words as it’s not impossible that feigned unwillingness could be integrated into a scene.” He said. “Chose words that, at least during play, would never be used outside of the context of a safe word.”

“Mercy?”

“That implies being deserving of the pain. Not only that, it also makes it seem as if the pain is the end goal rather than the pleasure derived from it.” He drawled. “I’m not torturing you, Anduin. Try again!”

Heather eyes flickered around the room. “…A copper for a hint?”

“Standard practice is fruits or colors.”

“I don’t much fancy the thought of finding myself in the position of needing to yell ‘kiwis’ during sex,” Anduin said, “so colors it is. And what easier colors for the King of Stormwind to remember than blue and gold.”

Nathanos seemed to be only narrowly resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Which color corresponds to what?”

“Blue will be ‘slow down’ and gold will be ‘stop’.” Anduin tilted his head. “Will I need these tonight?”

“Potentially.” His red eyes narrowed. “Given that its very possible tonight’s activity could turn fatal. How much do you trust me?” He reached out a hand and rested it lightly against the column of Anduin’s throat.

“More than anyone outside this room would consider wise.”

“’More than would be considered wise’.” Nathanos repeated, the almost playful lilt of his voice and the gentle stroking of his thumb along Anduin’s jugular drew a shudder from the younger man. “Enough to let me do this?”

His fingers constricted with such suddenness that Anduin nearly leapt out of his skin. Maintaining the pressure only just long enough for his breath to catch before releasing the pressure again. Anduin stared at him, wide eyed. Struggling to think through the surge of adrenaline. The fluttering of his heart. Nathanos watched him calmly, drinking in the play of reaction across his face. Though the pressure had let up the other man’s hand remained where it had been resting against his color bone.

“It’s called Autoerotic Asphyxiation. Breath play. Most would likely consider such a thing more extreme than anything we’ll be doing up at the cabin but I think that otherwise vanilla sex with my hand on your throat will be a gentler introduction to necessary principles than trusting you to a whipping rack.” The larger man’s thumb had resumed its almost soothing motion up and down the side of his neck. “Ultimately, though, it’s up to you. I can set the scene. Lay out the toys. Direct the path which matters take but it’s you who decide whether or not we begin. And you who decides when we stop. You use that word, it ends. Immediately.”

“I feel like there are less elaborate means of getting the message across that sometimes I say things that make you want to strangle me.” Anduin said, gazing up into those smoldering eyes. “But, like I said, I trust you more than most would consider to be intelligent. I don’t think you’d purposefully choke me to death. Tonight, at least.”

“Accidents happen, Wrynn.”

“I’m aware. But risk is the spice of life.” Anduin wrapped thin gloved fingers around the other man’s wrist. Holding on but not attempting to pull his grip free. “I don’t know if I’ll be into this but I’m willing to try just about anything at least once. If nothing else, I suppose I’ll gain experience.”

“Quite a lot of it, by the time I’m through with you.” His grip tightened briefly before releasing once again. “Undress.”

He’d already been half way there when Nathanos had found him, the majority of his court clothing still left hung undisturbed on their proper pegs. First to go was the badly rumpled shirt he’d fallen asleep in, which was dropped onto the couch behind him, followed by his pants and undergarments leaving Wrynn in only his gloves which he didn’t seem keen on removing. Nathanos raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. Shifting his grip from Anduin’s neck to his chin and attacking parted lips with another dominating kiss which the young King made no effort to resist. Moaning wantonly into the assault and allowing himself to be ravaged. Clinging to his shoulders as Nathanos tilted his chin back further. Deepened the kiss more. Applying faint, but steadily increasing pressure to his throat as he did so. Letting up slightly, and only for a moment, once Anduin began to wheeze.

Controlling him with the hand on his throat, Nathanos guided the Priest backwards until his knees met with the couch on which he’d been lying and he toppled back onto it. Mounting him immediately. Increasing the pressure while wrapping the fingers of his other hand around his hardening length. The dry drag of skin on skin, absent of oil, sharpening the sensation of pleasure-pain the young King was feeling. Drowning out desperate whimpers which Nathanos devoured with a voraciousness which came as a surprise to them both.

It had been too long. Too long since he’d had someone beneath him. Too long since he’d lain with someone warm. Anduin was handsome enough. Blonde. Responsive. Blue eyes, glassy with lust, gazed up at him framed by gilt tresses escaping the ribbon which had tied them back. Strands scattering across the pillows beneath him in disarray. Rosy lips parted in submission to further raids. Breath coming in shallow, needy whines as Nathanos lifted one of his legs and hooked it around his back. Pushing two fingers passed those parted lips and feeling the wet warm tongue behind them curl around them. Removing them once he deemed the coating of saliva to be workable, he probed delicately at the fluttering entrance before pushing inside. First to the knuckle and then further. Twisting and pushing until he managed to work in a second and the beginning to ease the young blonde open. Watching his face as heat rose to his cheeks and his jaw went slack. Lids dropping to half mast and fluttering over the whites. Chest raising a stuttered rhythm as he struggled to breathe through the tightening of Nathanos’ fingers around his porcelain throat. Becoming quicker and more erratic as time went on.

A third finger was added and then after what seemed like barely a moment all three were removed to make way for the insistent press of something larger.

“Relax, Wrynn.” That throaty huskiness had returned. Those red eyes devouring him like kindling thrown into a roaring blaze.

Nathanos released the pressure on his throat for long enough for Anduin to take a deep breath. Fill his lungs with the air they’d balanced on the edge of being deprived of. Will his muscles to go comfortably limp, allowing the older man to push forward into him. The moan of shocked pleasure at the pinch and stretch cut of as Nathanos bore down with more of his weight than before. Tiny black dots popping before his eyes as he started rocking forward. Failing to dignify Anduin’s graceless efforts to hook his other leg around his lower back and draw him closer, drive him deeper, with even the faintest hint of a response.

Heedless of the potential consequences, in between cycles of relief and suffocation, a mangled whine of “Nathan!” made it passed his teeth.

Anger flooded him, though where it came from Nathanos couldn’t say, and swept him away in a molten tide that tinted his vision red. His fingers closed, hard, around the young King’s throat with near enough force to rip the flesh he found there. Distantly, beneath the low humming of indignance in his ears, the recognition of the fact that Anduin’s face was rapidly turning an unhealthy shade of blue, that now wasn’t the proper time to kill him, registered but even still it took a moment for that reality to be communicated to his hands. To make his fingers loosen.

Anduin gasped for air and stared up at him, eyes wide, but with the arm of the couch pinning him in he couldn’t back away. He should have left. Had it been anyone else he would have. But something in that gaze, frightened and disconcertingly clear, demanded an explanation for his behavior.

“Don’t call me that!” He was gasping himself. Shoulders rising and falling as if he were still living and had just run from one end of the Barrens to the other. Confused and unnerved by where such a reaction had come from and why it had been so explosively violent. “ _She_ calls me that.” Though that didn’t serve to explain anything, it was the best he had to offer and with that done he was at last freed from whatever force had held up there. But when he tried to pull away Anduin wrapped all four limbs around him like an octopus and used his weight to prevent him from making such an easy escape. How could he be so bold, so incredibly stupid, as to cling to something which had so obviously frightened him badly enough that his heart was still racing in his chest?

“Wrynn-!”

“’Than.”

He pulled up short. “What?”

“’Than.” He repeated, suddenly looking almost uncomfortable. “If I can’t call you…then can I-?”

“I don’t see why you feel such a thing is necessary between us.” Nathanos snapped. “How many times must I reiterate the fact that this is nothing more than a distraction? A scratch!”

“For you. For now. But that could change.”

“Don’t hold your breath, brat!”

“And even if it doesn’t,” Anduin continued without releasing his grip on him; his length, Nathanos was almost mortified to realize, had begun to harden again where it was trapped between their bodies and the only thought which popped into the Dark Ranger Lord’s mind was the fact that it was always Light Wielders, “what difference does it make to you if I…well, the phrase I think you used was ‘offer you my heart’?” He blinked, a measure of calm returning to his eyes. The fear replaced with stubbornness instead, bottom lip jutting petulantly outward. “Can I call you ‘Than or not?”

“If you must.” He relented with a huff, then rocked forward again when Anduin attempted to speak. The young King whimpered and buried his face in the crook of the larger man’s neck. Panting against his collar bone. Digging his heels further into the small of his back as Nathanos set a far more brutal pace. Pinning Anduin with a hand on his chest. Refusing to look at the ripening bruises which had begun to bloom along his throat.

He growled into his release, the high keen of the Priest below him drowning it out as he spine arched and his head tilted back into the plush pillows and his spilled across their stomachs.

With a quiet noise of disgust Nathanos withdrew, at last able to extricate himself from the slackened grip of the King now lying limp atop the abused couch. A thin trickle of drool dripping from one corner of his lips. He snatched a cloth from the table nearby and wiped himself clean before flinging it at Anduin.

“Clean yourself up and go back to bed.” He grunted, picking up his clothes. “Those shadows haven’t disappeared yet.”

Sluggishly, Anduin pushed himself upright. “You’re not staying?”

“I don’t do afterglow.” He secured the final button on his shirt and headed towards the door. “If you want a cuddle toy find someone else!”

Nathanos marched out into the hall immediately afterwards without bothering to attempt to rearrange his hair into a less conspicuous position. Giving the guard stationed outside a caustic glare which dared him comment as he passed. Wisely, the man held his tongue.

_Elves live a long time._ How dare that little bastard ever be so presumptuous! He neither wanted nor needed his care or concern. Nor his feelings! Had Nathanos been a man less in control of his emotions he’d had attempted to punch a hole in the nearest stone wall. _Humans don’t._ It was a Human he’d left lying alone to pick himself up after what had transpired between them as if it meant nothing. Of _course_ it meant nothing! Maybe the disparate life expectancies of their races would have come to mean something between them had they lived but they were dead, now. Dead. And Anduin wasn’t. Not yet.

Why was he even allowing himself to dwell on such things?

Growling under his breath he threw the door to his chambers open. The sound of the knob banging off the opposite wall causing all three of his hounds, who in his absence had claimed the bed as their own, to jump and cast around. Goliath and Bleak looked warily in his direction. Boots wagged her tail and barked; the little skull shaped tag hung from the ribbon around her neck ringing softly. The metal cold and hard as it pressed into his fingers.

“That fool bastard had better mind his tongue before I cut it out!” He snarled, watching the puppy before him tilt her head in confusion. “Presumptuous arrogance. He’s lucky that I can’t be rid of him on a whim or else we’d be back in Zul’dazar by morning.”

Releasing the tag, allowing it to clatter back against the Plague Hound’s little chest, he turned his back on the bed and his hounds and flounced out onto the balcony of his chamber. Leaping without ceremony over the edge and landing with a cat like grace on the stones below, he slipped away into the night.


	19. On the Impossible Notion of Jealousy

The week had passed and the weekend had gone by but Anduin hadn’t seen Nathanos once, even briefly, since that night. He’d treated the bruises which his grip had left behind as was necessary and gone to bed after cleaning himself up though a measure of concern had followed him to bed and it hadn’t left. Court had resumed that day, the accumulated ‘concerns’ of the nobility being used freely as a bludgeon against him now that they held the perceived safety of the lack of Nathanos’ presence. Desperate for a break, however brief, Anduin had called a recess for lunch and retreated to his chambers. It was here that Valeera found him, staring out the window and picking at his food.

               “I take it he’s off lurking about somewhere?” her glowing green eyes scanned the room as if expecting the dour man to suddenly leap out of the closet at them.

               “I’d assume so.” Even to his own ears he sounded downtrodden. “I haven’t seen him in a couple of days.”

               “If you’re worried about pushing him away, I’d suggest you don’t be.” Valeera said. “His mission here requires he get real cozy with you after all. He wouldn’t want to fail that madwoman he calls a Queen.” There was something sour in her tone.

               Anduin sighed, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair. “Perhaps it won’t drive him away in permanence but it might drive a wedge between us and lead to my efforts failing.”

“Did you insinuate that he was a toy again?”

“No. I called him ‘Nathan’.” He said. “Sylvanas calls him ‘Nathan’.”

“Surely it can’t be that big of a matter.” The fact that Nathanos had attempted to strangle him suggested otherwise. Though from the look of total shock on his face while he’d done it even he hadn’t understood why. “He’ll return. Just let him have his time alone to sulk. We can take advantage of it.”

He looked over at her. The circles under his eyes had disappeared almost completely but he still looked deeply tired. “How so?”

“I have my second report. And I doubt that he’d be terribly pleased to realize that someone’s dispensing such information to others.” Valeera said. “You’re not terribly busy at the moment?”

“Not terribly.” He set his plate aside. “What do you have to share?”

“Well, to start with, her was born on the Marris Stead in the year 21 Before the Dark Portal to a pair of peasant farmers and soon demonstrated skill with both the bow and hounds. He had no siblings but with him his younger cousin, Stephon, came to live with them and Nathanos took on the role of protective older brother. All things considered, and though he was often away after joining the Farstriders, it seems to have been a role he took seriously.” Valeera said. “When the Scourge came Nathanos returned home in an effort to protect his family but was cut down. Stephon, alone, managed to escape and, once he grew into a man, joined the Argent Crusade. He spent years searching for his cousin in the hopes that he’d somehow made it out as well but ultimately learned the truth. And took on the responsibility of laying his cousin to rest. Supposedly, he patrolled the roads around the Marris Stead every night looking for signs of him but never found any, and the Champions he sent in his stead met with only false success.”

“A younger cousin.” Anduin said. “Do you think he could be convinced to come to Stormwind and speak with him?”

“Probably, provided he could be found.” Valeera said.

“If he could be found?” he repeated, confused. “What do you mean?”

“He’s been missing since around the time of the Legion’s return.” Valeera told him, eyebrows knitting together when she caught sight of the horrified comprehension which had dawned across his face. “What?”

“You said that Stephon went missing at around the time the Legion returned?”

Valeera nodded. “Yes. Why?”

“Because that’s also about the time that his appearance was restored. And I’ve heard from some who’d met him, or even simply seen him while alive mention he doesn’t look quite the same. Similar, but not the same.”

“I’m still not following.”

“Consider the price of dark magic. And the potential implication of his ‘similar but not the same’ appearance in context with the fact that blood family has resemblance.”

Valeera’s expression tinted with horrified disgust. “Oh, Light! You really think…?”

“I do.” Anduin reached up a hand to scrub at his face. “And if they were as close as I’d expect then that means we’ve found another thorn. Though one I’ll have to be especially cautious while removing.”

“You think that he murdered the cousin that he practically raised so that he could use his appearance as the magical equivalent of a skin suit and you want to _poke him_?”

“I don’t think that Nathanos murdered Stephon. I think Sylvanas did and made him party to it. That she knew he was devoted enough to her, so wrapped up in her influence, that he couldn’t bring himself to stop her. In the moment.” He said. “But the guilt is there. Building. Never going away. Renewing itself every time he looks in a mirror and sees his reflection. Stephon was raised by Nathanos Marris, and as he is now Nathanos Blightcaller believes himself not to be the same man. Believes he isn’t the man who would have acted to once again protect one of the very people he’d died for. But once I’ve made him realize that that isn’t true, that he’s the same person still in spite of his curse, the game is one. The Banshee Queen’s grip will unravel.”

“He almost strangled you for using a shortened form of his name.” Valeera said. “And you really want to prod at something much more understandable to want to kill someone over?”

“I’ll do whatever I have to to save him. To save myself.” He said. “There’s never reward without risk.”

“Sometimes the reward isn’t worth it.”

“Saving a soul always is.” Anduin pushed back from the chair that he’d been sitting in and rose to his feet. “I should be getting back. Before they get it into their heads that I’m trying to hide from them.”

“Good luck.” Valeera was only half kidding as she watched him trudge across the room. “You look as if you’ll need it.”

Anduin hoped he wouldn’t but knew he more than likely would. Pausing a moment to straighten his clothes and smooth down his hair, the young King pushed open the door of his chambers and set off down the hallway outside.”

He only made it two steps before he was set upon by one of the nobles, but only had enough of a chance to register that it was Count Ridgewell before Nathanos materialized out of the shadow beside him and sent the man running with a sound which Nathanos could only describe as a bark.

“Good to see you again, Blightcaller. I was starting to worry.” He said. “Were you allowing me to pretend I was avoiding you again?”

The larger man ignored the comment and addressed him. “Wyrmbane has returned from Boralus to deliver a report.” He said. “I’d advise that you release your Court for the day and see to matters.”

“Thank you, Nathanos. I’ll dismiss them immediately.” Catching sight of the other’s raised eyebrow he tilted his head. “What?”

“All the squalling you did over that damned pet name, yet you’re not even using it.”

“I didn’t think you’d want me to be using it in public. Not that we could anyway.” The almost guilty way those red eyes scanned his neck for bruises didn’t escape his notice.

“I don’t.” His response was immediate. Nathanos paused to fix the nearest guard in a side-eyed glare, then dropped his voice and said “you knew what you were getting into. I made it plain, from the outset. So, don’t attempt to tell me you’re upset I didn’t stay.”

“…I was trying not to make it obvious.” To not allow himself to register the sudden impact of being so immediately abandoned. “I knew it wasn’t likely that you’d stay, but…you didn’t have to leave so quickly.” Anduin dropped his gaze and wrapped his arms around himself. “It was my first time. And the way it happened…I feel like I did something wrong.”

“I’ll admit that I lost control.” Nathanos grumbled. “My reaction was uncalled for. Normally, I’m better able to keep myself in check.”

“That isn’t…what I meant.”

They stared at each other for a drawn-out moment before realization clicked in the older man’s head. “That had absolutely nothing to do with you, idiot! Mine or someone else’s, I prefer not being covered in cum!”

Anduin blinked. “So, it wasn’t me?”

Nathanos crossed his arms. “Did you take me for the sort to mindlessly rut against anything which happened to possess the capacity for movement?” he growled. “If I found you in any way disgusting, aside from your moralizing, I would never engage in this manner of activity!”

“That certainly makes me feel a bit better.” A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Don’t think I’ve forgiven you, though.”

The larger man sneered. “I’ll be sure to wait for my dismissal in the future.” He drawled. “But I think you’ve left the Commander of the 7th Legion waiting for long enough. We can continue such discussions later, if we must.”

“Oh, of course. I’d almost forgotten that you mentioned Halford had come.” Anduin didn’t need visual confirmation on the fact that Nathanos was rolling his eyes and started down the hall again. The footsteps of the Dark Ranger Lord fell in behind him not long after.

The guardsmen stationed outside the throne room nodded respectfully in his direction as he approached and moved to push the throne room doors open. Inside Anduin caught near immediately sight of Halford Wyrmbane, flanked by 7th Legion soldiers; the well-built Paladin turned to face him and snapped into salute, followed by the other two.

“Halford, your return was unexpected.” Anduin lowered himself into the Lion Seat, aware, without having to glance over his shoulder, that Nathanos had taken his usual position behind and just to the right of him. “Has something happened?”

“Not of dire consequence, King Anduin. But I thought time had passed enough that a report on our standing in Zandalar was overdue.” His eyes shifted over the Nathanos who gazed back at him in return, bored. “Not only that, I thought the Blightcaller’s intimate knowledge of Horde routes through the area might be of use to us in the near future.”

“You came in hopes I’d map things out for you, Paladin?” Nathanos spat.

“He’d be happy to.” Anduin ignored the indignant hiss from the larger man beside him and pushed himself back to his feet. Motioning towards the nearby doorway. “Let us adjourn to the War Room. You can lay the laps out across the table there.”

“Of course, King Anduin.”

The War Room was lit only by the dim sunlight which streamed into the throne room’s windows. The massive table in the center of the room, built from heavy oak wood, was strewn with rolled up yellowing maps and melted candle stubs. The tapestries which hung from the four stone walls fluttered gently in the faint breeze as they passed.

Anduin produced a book of matches and set to the process of lighting the numerous candles while Halford pulled a folded map from within his armor and unrolled it over top of the other maps and various other clutter already present on the table. “As things stand, King Anduin, Alliance agents have successfully reinforced our footholds across Zandalar and the necessary preparation of the Zandalari’s War fleet has taken place.” He said. “How long they will remain undiscovered, I can’t say.”

“A few threads yet remain, but it would seem that our grip around Zul’dazar is closing. Light willing, the Zandalari will soon be taught better of throwing in their lot with the Horde.” Anduin said. “Without access to their fleet, the Horde will be set at a disadvantage and years may be shaved off this war.”

“Light willing.” Halford echoed, returning his attention to the map. “This plan is to make use of a Tidesage artifact to draw the majority of the Zandalari forces into Nazmir, leaving their capitol open for invasion by our main force. Any knowledge of routes and holdings in the area that we’ve yet to discover, Blightcaller, could mean the difference between success and failure.”

Nathanos glared at the Paladin for a drawn-out moment before stepping up to the table and treating the map to a torching stare.

For a long moment he didn’t move. Then, with a tint of reluctance, Nathanos indicated a position near the center of the map.

“There’s a staging ground for Talanji’s Expedition here that’s rarely used, but present never the less.” Nathanos indicated another position, the tip of his talon rattling as it was dragged lightly along the parchment. “There are numerous game trails used by the Dark Rangers which run through this area, beginning here and here. Any one of them can lead one to the farthest corners that fetid swampland swiftly. It’d be wisest to find some means of blocking them off.”

“I think you may be right.” Halford said.

“Need you be told more on the lay out of the city itself or did the spies I know you had lurking about actually have their use?”

“Mathias’ agents in SI:7 were able enough in providing us the necessary information in that regard.” Halford said. “Rather odd how eager you seem to provide that sort of information.”

Nathanos bared his teeth. “The Zandalari didn’t like me much. I’m under no obligation to keep any of their secrets.”

Dismissing the matter, the Paladin turned his attention to Anduin. “That would serve to be the end of my report, King Anduin. Though I was asked by King Greymane to alert you to the fact that everything is ready for your visit to Kul Tiras. You simply need set a date.”

“My visit to Kul Tiras?” Anduin repeated, confused. “Genn did suggest I consider visiting but no agreement was made. I simply said I’d consider it.”

“It seems the mutts of the belief that he can make decisions for you.” Nathanos ignored Anduin’s disapproving look. “I suggest, my Liege, that such behavior be nipped in the bud.”

“King Anduin, if I may?”

“Of course, Halford.” Anduin said. “I always prefer my men to speak their mind.”

“I think it may be best you make use of the invitation.” Halford said. “You are in the position, now, where you should at least begin considering such things. And King Greymane is perhaps correct in thinking that Katherine’s charge might make a good Queen.”

“A good _what_?” Nathanos bristled.

“I’m aware of my responsibilities, especially considering that I’m the last of the Wrynn line, but I feel as if there are bigger things I should be concerning myself with. More important uses of my time than courting and arranging a marriage. …And that there are more responsible times to bring a child into the world than the heart of a brutal war.”

“Your reasons are respectable, King Anduin, but I beg you consider the fact that you’re in more danger now than ever.” Halford said. “Should something happen to you, where would the Alliance be?”

The young King hung his head and sighed but Nathanos stepped between them before he could. Aggression in his posture. “ _Nothing_ , Wyrmbane, is going to happen to Wrynn while I’m here. If anything does manage to make it passed his guards and stray into the sights of my arrows it will make it no further and it’s body will be fed to my hounds!”

Alarmed by the sudden shift in demeanor Halford stepped back and though it only lasted a moment Anduin caught the way his hand twitched towards the blade at his side.

Taking action to calm the situation Anduin stepped between them, resting a hand on the larger man’s tensed bicep. The thin fabric of the shirt he wore, in contrast to the mail armor which had prior been his standard, making no effort to conceal the bulging muscles beneath from his fingers.

Light, think of something else!

“Nathanos, please. I don’t intend to belittle your ability to defend me should the need arise, but Halford is right. I’ve a responsibility to my kingdom that must be fulfilled.” The Dark Ranger Lord made a low noise in the back of his throat which raised the hair along the back of his neck but Anduin simply shook his head and turned back to the Paladin. “Please let Genn know that he may tell Katherine I’ll be visiting a fortnight from now. And that I’d rather not be locked in a proverbial room with the supposed charge, nice as I’m sure she is, but fully expect him to attempt to pull something of just that sort.”

Snarling, Nathanos spun on his heel and headed for the door ignoring the young King’s efforts to call after him. Something hot and coarse, like steel wool, rubbing raw his insides. Searing like acid in his veins. What was it? Jealous? Surely not! He couldn’t be _jealous_ over the concept of some noble woman, Kul Tiran or otherwise, entering the picture. Taking the King’s time. The King’s attention. Making it more difficult to draw him further into his coils; the necessary position for him to be for the heart strike to come. It was irritation at having his job be made more difficult, his time in Stormwind being drawn out, nothing more.

Absolutely nothing more.

Jealous? Him? Over Wrynn? Ridiculous!

Nathanos nearly bowled over a guard as he rounded the corner to his chambers but didn’t even bother slowing down. Opening the door for just long enough to call his hounds to his side, Boots having more trouble getting down off the bed than the other two due to her much shorter legs, before exiting the Keep and leaving the city behind entirely. Taking off at a full sprint through the trees.

It had been years since he’d done this. Taken to the land, to the forest, in an effort to bring himself some measure of peace. To run off his problems. Retreat into dappled sunlight and hissing wind; the crunching of leaves beneath his boots and the paws of his hounds; the scent of earth and grass and the burn of exertion in his limbs.

He’d met Sylvanas, that first time, doing this. Had been running off agitation at something he could no longer remember along a bend in the Throndroril. Body aching, soaked in sweat and huffing for breath, he’d paused for a brief rest and had sensed a pair of unseen eyes. Expecting danger, perhaps a wolf or a bear, Nathanos has fired and his arrow had met its mark.

With the relationship between Lordaeron and Quel’thalas being strained even back then had it gotten out that a peasant boy of barely 17 had shot an Elven Ranger ‘trouble’ wouldn’t even had begun to cover it. But Sylvanas had been impressed by his aim and had promised to never breathe a word of the arrow which had wound up in her shoulder if he came back with her to the High Home of her people and joined the ranks of the Farstriders under her command.

Unlike back then, he didn’t have a limit to his stamina. Dead muscles simply carried out their orders with mechanical repetition, absent the burn he was seeking. The distraction he wanted. Finally, on account of his hounds’ panting behind him, Nathanos slowed to a stop in a clearing and crouched atop a fallen log. Watching his three companions flop down into the grass as they tried to catch their breath.

The gnawing jealousy-no, not jealousy damn it all, simply irritation! -only seemed to smolder hotter for his efforts, as if his belly was full of coals. Almost like the damnable emotion was aware of his attempts to rid himself of it and had dug itself deeper into his flesh, like a burrowing maggot, in response. Pride unable to hold the urge back any longer, Nathanos threw back his head and screamed. His hounds howling along with him at the setting sun. Why? _Why?_ What was it about _Wrynn_ of all people that left him…left him…vulnerable in such a way that he shouldn’t have been? Couldn’t afford to be. Hadn’t thought himself still capable of.

He sensed the danger in it, knew that he’d begun to stray too close to his own trap. That he’d soon find himself stuck fast in the bird lime which he himself had set out but he had to push forward. Couldn’t falter. Couldn’t fail. His Queen required this of him. Has assigned the matter personally. He was stronger than this, stronger than Wrynn, and he would not back out before the job was done.

If Anduin _had_ to entertain Greymane’s insistences and begin considering a Queen, so be it! It meant nothing to him! Absolutely nothing! He’d work around her, if need be, and if need be, would make her disappear!

“Do you make a habit of screaming at trees, Blightcaller?” Nathanos swore and spun around, leveling her in the sights of his bow. Tess, eyes wide, raised her hands in a placating gesture but held her ground. “Cathartic as I’m sure it is, that maple isn’t going to respond to you. But if you need someone to talk to, I’d be happy to offer an ear.”

“How long have you been standing there, Greymane?” he snarled, not lowering his bow.

“Well, I heard the yelling quite a ways off but it wasn’t until you confronted that presumptuous Rowan tree over there over the fact that you don’t give a flaming toss whether or not Anduin marries some Kul Tiran bint he’ll never really want to lay anyway that what you were saying became discernable.” She informed him brightly, undaunted by being in his arrow sights. “You know, I suspected that Anduin might be just as tilted as me but he was so damned good at hiding it I could never really tell. You make a cute couple.”

“We are _not_ a couple!” His roar sent birds fleeing from a nearby tree.

Tess hummed indulgently. Nathanos badly wanted to shoot her but forced himself to lower his bow. “Oh, of course. You’re merely his Champion. And it’s completely normal for a Champion to feel so absurdly threatened by the mere concept of their King potentially marrying, as he’s obliged to do, that they take to the forest and start wanting at no one, jumping up and down and waving their arms like a loon.”

Nathanos puffed up indignantly, well aware from the gleam in her eyes that she was enjoying riling him up. “I was _not_ jumping up and down. And I most certainly wasn’t waving anything around!”

“But you don’t deny yelling at the trees or the fact that you’re very _very_ jealous of this hypothetical Queen.”

“ _I am **not** jealous damn you!”_

“Oh, of course not.” She chuckled. “If that’s the case, I’ll leave you alone to continue being ‘not jealous’.”

“Please do!”

“I’m sure I’ll see you later, Nathanos.” Ignoring the burning stare on her back as well as they sound of his mutinous grumbling Tess trotted away into the trees, unable to keep a small smile off her face.


	20. Welcome to Kul Tiras

               “Focus, you imbeciles! This shouldn’t be this difficult!”

Isabelle flinched at Nathanos’ harsh bark and almost lost her balance, her expression scrunching up as if in hopes that if she tried harder, she’d manage to tap into the supposed magic they were supposed to be ‘finding’. Kieran suspected that the Blightcaller, who for whatever reason seemed more agitated than usual, was simply fucking with them; that there was no ‘woodland magic’ at all and that he simply wanted to torture them by forcing them to balance on one leg while already perched on tree branches.

Honestly, they’d been at this for three hours already and all he’d gotten for his effort was an insect in his ear.

Aware that their mentor’s blazing eyes were sweeping the area like spot beams Kieran carefully turned his head towards where his sister and classmates were likewise balanced. Jocelyn looked incredibly unsteady but was plainly still trying to fulfill the supposed lesson they’d been set. Corvin was only pretending when the Blightcaller looked in his direction; meeting his gaze, he mouthed ‘why are we doing this?’ to which he could only shrug. Nolan had either given up completely or become so deluded by the heat of the beating sun on their heads that he’d hallucinated progress because he leapt down from his elevated perch. The thud of his landing instantly drawing Nathanos’ full attention.

“You think you’ve found the voice of the Forest, Buckley?”

In spite of being faced down by the larger man, who in that moment looked more like an angry mastiff than usual, Nolan didn’t give ground. Simply nodding and answering “yes, Sir.”

“I’d demand proof, but testing you on Forest Stride would require leaving these dunderheads to their own devices. And I’ve little doubt that some among them who believe themselves sneaky, Stonebridge and Presley, at the very least will neglect their studies for some other pinheaded activity in order to entertain their simple minds.” Those blazing eyes ran them both through in turn before returning to Nolan. “Where I find it difficult to believe that my worst student is the first to succeed in this exercise, I suppose it’s not impossible you could be more proficient at magic than a bow.”

“I’ve been practicing, Sir.” He said, head bowed. “Though I’ll admit to not having a particular gift for the bow.”

“Better an ungifted sot willing to work than a gifted one who isn’t. I expect you to be able to hit the target instead of your foot when next we convene at the range.” Nolan didn’t complain but it was clear from his posture he wasn’t confident in his ability to do so. Nathanos’ gaze was merciless. “You’d all do well to keep in mind that my lessons, largely, are self-study. I set the tools before you and you figure out how to use them. A simple notion. And it will all come to light how well you studied when the time comes for your…final exams.”

“Final exams?” when the Blood Elf had arrived on the scene Kieran wasn’t certain. Nathanos didn’t appear particularly pleased by her appearance either and slowly turned to face her. “I’d assume you don’t intend those to be made in ink and paper. I’m certain you’re a harsh grader, judging by your personality.”

“Better the King have no Rangers than subpar ones, Sanguinar. Students who fail to meet my standards don’t graduate. No negotiation.” He said. “What do you want?”

“Anduin is setting out for Kul Tiras in an hour, Blightcaller. He was under the assumption that you were going to accompany him?”

Briefly, the Dark Ranger Lord appeared to bristle before gruffly informing her “let him know I will be meeting him at the Mage Tower once I’ve properly dismissed this lot and collected my hounds.” Nathanos turned his attention back to them, glaring. “What are you all still doing up there? Get down! We’re done for the day.” He said. “I expect that those of you who failed to manage today will have figured it out when our next lesson rolls around as we’ll be moving on. If you cannot pluck up the necessary brain cells to do so on your own then I suggest speaking with Buckley whom at least claims to have had an epiphany on the matter. Am I understood?”

A smattering of grumblings arose in response, which Nathanos answered with a harsh glare. Finally, seemingly satisfied that they’d follow his commands however unwillingly, he turned his back on them and started back towards Stormwind city at a steady pace. Choosing to ignore the fact that Valeera had accompanied him, not that she seemed inclined to speak with him anyway.

Bleak and Goliath were both curled up asleep in the sunlight pouring in through the window. Boots, however, had been pawing at the door and wagged her tail when it finally opened. Nathanos bent to pick her up, this time simply propping her beneath his arm. Whistling to the other hounds, the Blightcaller exited the castle and made his way over to the Mage District.

Anduin was waiting for him at the top of the tower, in the Portal Room itself. Smiling but looking rather nervous and dressed in some sort of formal wear which was half-armor and half courtly garb. It suited him, to say the very least.

Nathanos frowned, curling his lip as the young King trotted over. “When I didn’t see you this morning, I started to worry I wouldn’t be accompanied.” He said, cupping his hands around Boot’s head and scratching gently behind her ears. “Hello, Bootsy.”

The little hound squirmed in an effort to free herself but Nathanos held fast. “I was with the troop of monkeys I’ve been forced by circumstance to consider students. I hadn’t been aware you were leaving so soon until your Elf informed me.”

“So soon?” he repeated. “It’s midafternoon.”

Unintelligible grumbling in response, most probably in Gutter speak.

“Does your appearance mean that you intend to accompany me on my state visit?”

Red eyes leveled him in a baleful stare. “I have to take some steps to defend what is mine, do I not my Liege?”

Not jealous. Not at all.

Anduin raised an eyebrow. “I’m merely going to be entertaining Genn’s insistence in hopes it will appease him enough that I’ll have a month or two before he throws another noblewoman at me.” He said. “I’m going to be polite, little more, and I expect you to be as well. It’s possible we’ll even be friends.”

More grumbling.

“I’m not going to replace you so you don’t need to feel so incredibly threatened.”

“I do _not_ feel threatened!”

Anduin smirked. “Right.” He said. “And it’s because you feel so very not threatened that you’ve become so snappish.”

Another glare.

“You do realize that, even if I were going with a serious intent to court this mystery girl nothing will come of it if she wouldn’t allow me the ability to continue our-.”

“Affair.”

“Well I was going to call it-.”

“A relationship? Don’t bother. It isn’t.”

Anduin blinked at the other man, then sighed and shook his head. “Either way, my point still stands.” He said, then turned to walk away. Revealing how the partial armor that he wore framed his back and shoulders. Nathanos caught himself staring and quickly turned his head to glare at the nearest wall. Boots made a sound almost as if she was laughing at him.

Muttering under his breath and with Bleak and Goliath trotting behind he followed the young King towards where the gleaming portal to Boralus stood. The surface of the magic rippled as they approached, as if it were merely a disk of disturbed water and on the other side a sprawl of green tin rooftops were visible.

Fixing him in a last authoritative though somehow still resigned gaze Anduin said “behave” before stepping through. The swooping sensation of portal travel and the cold chill of the magic against his skin were by now familiar after all the visits to Dalaran and Theramore throughout his childhood and Anduin barely batted an eye in the face of it, followed almost immediately by Nathanos.

Two members of the Lion’s Guard had gone ahead and met them in Boralus’ Portal Chamber, clad from head to toe in the gilded armor which marked them as the King’s elite guard. No one else was present in the Chamber, not even Genn, a fact which Anduin was both grateful for and found odd.

“King Anduin,” the Lion’s Guard who spoke was a man name Tristian Riley whom Anduin remembered serving his father, “the portal travel went well?”

“As could be expected, thank you. Our Mages are good at what they do and I doubt Aunt Jaina would allow the Kul Tiras side to be subpar.” Anduin said. “Where is Genn?”

“King Greymane is waiting for you in the Harbor Master’s office. He told him, motioning for the door. “It’s just down the road here, my King. If you would.”

“Of course.” Anduin said. “Lead the way.”

As they stepped out of the arching doorway and into the sun Anduin got his first real look at the famous Harbor city. Framed on all sides by towering mountains capped in snow, the air held a cold bite in spite of the season and smelled sharply of brine. Ships lined the multiple docks, a myriad of sails in all colors imaginable fluttering in the same stiff wind which ferried white winged gulls overhead. Clothing lines stretched between green tin roofs stretching inland as far as the eye could see.

The walk to the Harbormaster’s Office was a short one, their destination quite literally the next doorway over, but that didn’t stop Anduin from setting his head on a swivel. Nathanos wasn’t interested in anything around them, keeping his eyes on Anduin and Anduin alone as they walked. Aware but uncaring that his gaze could be misconstrued as possessive.

This woman they were meeting, whomever the hell she might be, wouldn’t make a move he didn’t see!

Ducking through another arching doorway and stepping into the dim room beyond, they made their way passed posted guards holding ornamental pikes and down a flight of stairs. The Harbormaster’s Office itself was a small and relatively cramped space, another doorway exiting out into the Harbor itself set into the opposite wall. The bar stone walls were hung with faded tapestries astride a yellowed map of Kul Tiras. A Quartermaster stood posted behind a long counter and, to their right, a fire crackled in the hearth.

Genn Greymane stood stiffly in the middle of the room, refusing to acknowledge Nathanos’ presence by even so much as glancing in his direction. Beside him were two strangers, one of whom Nathanos suspected to be his competition, but before he could get a proper look at his opponent a towering man with skin tanned to raw hide stepped into his line of vision.

“You don’t look quite like a remember, Marris, but then again I suppose I don’t look quite the same either.” His voice was becoming jovial and the hand he thrust toward him wouldn’t have looked out of place attached to an ogre. “Cyrus Crestfall.”

Nathanos glared at the other man, making no move to take the offered hand. “I don’t answer to that name.” He drawled. “Have we met?”

“Once. And only briefly. It was during the Third War, a couple months prior to my…promotion.” Cyrus slapped his straining stomach and laughed. “Had considerably less here, then, and could still fit into my armor so I doubt I look familiar to you…and I also doubt you’d have bothered cataloging the names of a couple of Knights you never saw again. But I wanted to take the chance to thank you. If it hadn’t been for your contingent’s arrows, I doubt that I’d be here now.”

_There was still light in the sky but the towering stone walls prevented the sun’s rays from reaching the bottom, making it seem as if night had already fallen. Trapped against an outcropping of rock below were a handful of knights, the coloring of their armor marking them Kul Tiran. One of them gripped a broken blade, another was unarmed and a third lay injured in the dirt as a large war party of Orcs closed in._

“You’re on of those idiots who managed to get themselves trapped in the damned canyon, wedged between those Orcs and that collapse.” He grunted. “To this day I can’t fathom how the three of you managed to find your way around those cordons and wind up there. Renown for your fleet as you may be, you Kul Tirans are as useful on the ground as a beached whale!”

“Nathanos, please! This is hardly the way to go about introducing yourself.”

Anduin’s scolding met with a hoarse grunt. Nathanos folded his arms. Cyrus didn’t seem overly bothered by the other’s less than warm demeanor, however. “I’ll admit that we were a bit far removed from where we should have been.” He said. “Your strategic genius was integral in many of the most important battles of the Second and Third Wars. It’s truly a boon to the Alliance that you’re no longer lending such skills to the Horde.”

“I never could quite suffer serving alongside Green skins; their savage ilk never failed to test my patience.” His red eyes shifted over to Genn. “Though it seems I’ve merely traded them for a different manner of slavering beast.”

“Speak for yourself, corpse!”

“Enough! Both of you!” Anduin’s tone brokered no argument. “How many times must I speak of civility between the two of you? At least in my presence.”

Genn snarled. Nathanos, no doubt solely out of an effort to further infuriate the Gilnean King, bowed deeply at the waist, his face a mask of false regret. “Forgive my behavior, my Liege.”

Anduin rolled his eyes.

“I think we’ve wasted enough of the King’s time; how about you join me later at Snug Harbor and we trade war stories over a pint?”

“The kind of alcohol your city serves is of no use to me.” Nathanos snapped. “Not to mention that I’m here solely on business.”

“My Lion’s Guard will surely be capable of handling themselves for a few hours, Nathanos.” Anduin said.

The Dark Ranger Lord fixed him in an unamused glance. “Your ‘guards’ are incompetent to a man and _you_ are prone to life threatening danger. I’ll not be letting you out of my sight, Wrynn, until we return to Stormwind.”

“I can’t condone you speaking ill of such dedicated men and women. But if you wish to shadow me so be it. As long as you _behave_.” Anduin shifted his attention at last onto the woman, a raven-haired warrior with a massive hammer strapped to her back, and asked “who’s this?”

How quickly Genn jumped on introductions confirmed Nathanos’ earlier assumption that this was, in fact, his opponent. Red eyes fell on her the moment Cyrus moved out of the way and the rapid build of her discomfort was clear though she did an admirable job of hiding it. A fact which only served to annoy him more. Briefly, she glanced over at a man in a tatty over coat who leaned against another wall. “This is the young woman I wanted you to meet, Anduin. She’ll be responsible for guiding you around Boralus during your stay here.”

So that was how the mutt was going to be justifying shoving them together for extended periods? Well, if Nathanos had any say in matters-and he had every intention of having _the last word_ -she wouldn’t be ‘guiding’ Anduin anywhere alone. Even if ensuring such a thing meant a premature use of the dagger, poisoned for the maximization of pain and suffering, he’d set aside for the King.

“Hello, King Wrynn.” She said, almost shyly. Her smile was warm, much like Anduin’s own, and the similarity annoyed him to no end. “I’m Taelia Fordragon.”

“Fordragon?” Anduin repeated, wide eyed. “As in…Bolvar Fordragon?”

“Well, yes actually.” She said. “He was my father. I haven’t seen him in years but he used to send me letters, though…recently they’ve stopped coming.”

Sorrow briefly passed across the young King’s features. “I…Taelia, I think we’ve much of importance to discuss, but that perhaps there’s a little bit better of a time to speak of such matters. Visit me in Stormwind someday and we can speak at length about both the incredible man your father was and…all that he sacrificed for the good of the Alliance. And please,” he offered her a small smile of his own, “call me Anduin.”

Nathanos made a sound like a disgruntled feline.

“I’d be happy to, Anduin, though it should perhaps wait until this war is over. Father would speak of Stormwind often in his letters; said that it, and Elwynn Forest, were beautiful.”

“The Lord Admiral is waiting on the King’s visit, Taelia.” Cyrus said. “I think that it’s best you escort him to Proudmoore Hold.”

“Of course, Cyrus.” She said. “If you’d follow me, Anduin. You and your...companion.”

“Nathanos like to present himself as meaner than he is. A lot like his hounds, actually. Bootsy, there, will be the first to nip at your fingers when you try to pet her but melts as soon as you start giving her a belly rub.”

“Oh,” the almost concerned glance she sent in Nathanos’ direction was clearly directed more at him than the puppy in his arms. “Does her Master like them too?”

Anduin grinned. “I might have to find that out later.”

Genn made a horrified spluttering sound. Nathanos hissed something in Gutter speak which Anduin didn’t doubt, from the tone and inflection, was some synonym for ‘imbecile’ before shouldering his way out the door ahead of them. The young King laughed and shook his head before following him out, Taelia not far behind.

The Dark Ranger Lord had planted his feet a few yards away, arms crossed yet again and face set into a glare. He’d let Boots down by then and the little puppy happily bounced over to his feet, tail wagging. He said nothing and Taelia seemed to be trying not to look at him.

“I was raised by Cyrus, you know? Daelin Proudmoore, Lady Jaina’s father and the former Lord Admiral, put him on desk duty over it. That’s how he got the position of Harbor Master.” She informed them as they made their way up a set of stairs to a higher tier of the city. “He was upset over it for a while. Thought it meant the former Lord Admiral didn’t trust him. But I think by now he’s come to realize that it’s quite the opposite. And I’m glad that Daelin did, because if he’d gone with his guard to Theramore Isle he’d have died as well.”

“What Jaina did back then was wrong, it’s never right to betray your family,” out of the corner of his eye Anduin thought he saw Nathanos flinch, “but she did it for the right reasons. Because she believed, as I do, that one day peace can be reached with the Horde.”

“There will never be peace with the Horde.” Nathanos said bitterly. “Not with the Banshee Queen as Warchief. Sylvanas’ intent is to build a world for the Forsaken, and a world for the Forsaken won’t suffer the living. Certainly not the _Alliance_.”

A brief but heavy silence fell between them after that before Taelia made an effort to lighten the mood by introducing them to the city.

“Over that way is Tradewinds Market; one of the largest markets on Azeroth, it sees business daily from all over the Great Sea. We’ve Vrykul spice traders; Tuskarr fishmongers; Tortollans selling a wide array of unique artifacts. If you’re interest in something, Anduin, odds are you’d be able to find it here.” She said. “Though Flynn always seems to be more interested in the alcohol the Snug Harbor has to offer.”

“I’ll have to take a bit of time to look around more closely during my stay.” Anduin said. “Is this ‘Flynn’ a friend of yours?”

“ _Just_ a friend, yes.” The way she blushed so intensely while saying so suggested otherwise. Good. It would be easier to run her off if there was another set of arms to chase her into; a pair which likely didn’t have a highly territorial undead hovering behind. “He’s a former pirate. Reformed, now. Charming. Could do with being a bit more sober a bit more often but…no one’s perfect.”

Anduin smiled but said nothing. They continued passed the flight master and down yet another set of stairs, away from the Harbor and into the city itself. Buildings leaned in close along the rutted cobblestone streets, stagnant puddles of briny foul-smelling water swarming with insects speckling their path. Stray animals and vagrants littered the narrow alleys and lopsided doorways. Anduin looked horrified but Nathanos’ pace just behind him forced the young King to continue forward without stopping.

Noticing the source of his distress, Taelia sighed. “Dampwick Ward is just one example of how things for Kul Tiras have declined since we broke away from the Alliance of Lordaeron.” She said. “Now that we’ve reforged our bonds of friendship and made right certain wrongs within our borders I’m sure that things will slowly start getting better.”

“I’ll be certain to alert Katherine to the fact that the Alliance will do all that it can to make that recovery as swift as is possible.” He said. “No one deserves to suffer, no matter what circumstance they came from.”

“Thank you, Anduin.” She said, smiling. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re very kind?”

Anduin chuckled. “I’ve heard it a few times.” He said. “I hope, one day, it won’t come as such a surprise.”

They turned a corner into an open square which looked as if it might be used during the late hours of the night as an underground brawler’s club. Anduin barely had the time to catch sight of the white bird making use of one of the many puddles littering the streets before he was seized from behind and nearly lifted off his feet. Unable to work out whether or not the larger man was attempting to pull him back or hide behind him, the young King flailed in an effort to regain his balance. Taelia looked on in alarm and Boots barked loudly while circling their feet.

“Nathanos, it’s a bloody albatross!”

“Albatross? That _thing_ is a feathered demon!”

“Where I appreciate the gallant effort to defend me it’s unnecessary! Put me down!”

“Not until that disease carrying _monstrosity_ has been taken care of! Permanently!” But he wasn’t as able at pulling down his bow and taking aim as he thought he was whilst simultaneously restraining the struggling Priest. “Stop squirming, Wrynn!”

“Squirming? Are you mad? You’re going to shoot someone!”

Either out of a desire to save the bird or to avert the brewing disaster of a rogue arrow Taelia made a false lunge in the Albatross’ direction, sending it fluttering skyward in a whirl of white feathers.

Anduin was quite unceremoniously dropped, Nathanos focusing Taelia in another vicious glare. “Abet a menace, won’t you!” He snapped, stalking towards the street ahead of them. “Where’s this damned hold?”

“Is he unhinged?” Taelia asked, wide eyed.

Anduin, rather certain he didn’t look much better himself, shrugged. “Before this moment I’d have told you no.”

“And now?”

“I don’t know. It’s fully possible.” Anduin said. “But Nathanos is right, either way. We’ve kept Aunt Jaina waiting for long enough.” They didn’t talk again for the rest of their journey to their destination, otherwise present enthusiasm considerably dampened by the displeasure seeming to ooze from Nathanos like a poisonous cloud.

Proudmoore Hold was a towering building lined with beveled walkways. Holes had been carved into the stone every ten feet, out of which poked the snubbed muzzles of cannons, pointing both towards the city below and the open sea beyond the towering Harbor Gate.

Taelia led them around the back of the Hold to a small, rather quaint looking courtyard beside a well-trimmed maze of hedgerows. His adoptive Aunt, dressed in her usual blue and white ensemble, stood beside a severe old woman and a well-built man whom he could only assume were her mother and brother. She smiled at him, looking exhausted but otherwise pleased, and opened her mouth to speak before catching sight of Nathanos.

Anduin’s attempt to explain away what was likely her first assumption-had she even gotten word of his defection or had she been too busy? -wasn’t swift enough to preempt the punishing Frost magic. Nor were Nathanos’ reflexes enough to prevent him from being struck.

“By the Light, Aunt Jaina!” At least he managed to dispel the resultant block of ice almost immediately. “He’s not an enemy!”

“The _Blightcaller,_ Anduin?”

“Control your witch!” Nathanos stumbled slightly before regaining his balance. Frost had gathered in his hair and the young King couldn’t help but think the silvered tips looked extremely attractive in the gilded sunlight. With considerably more ferocity than was strictly necessary he straightened his armor with a clatter. “And I’ll have you know, Proudmoore, that this sort of reaction is really getting old! Hardly good manners to put an ally on ice.”

“An ally?” Jaina repeated, narrowing her eyes, though she didn’t make any further efforts to fling spells in his direction. Likely due to the fact that Anduin had placed himself between them. “Do you really think you’re fooling anyone?”

“Over what, precisely, am I attempting to fool anyone?” Nathanos drawled. “By all means, do inform me. Because I’ve no idea what you’re on about.”

“One who holds feelings for a monster will never be anything less than a monster themselves.”

“Oh, indeed.”  The Dark Ranger Lord snapped. “Over Arthas yet?”

All the color drained from Jaina’s face, blue eyes hazing with the violet glow of the Arcane, and Anduin knew that this was the moment he had to put his foot down. “ _Enough! Both of you!”_ The force in his words caused both to jump and turn their heads. “Jaina, you’re all but family and I deeply respect you but I won’t have you threatening Nathanos. Nor will I have you, Blightcaller, doing the same. I’m aware of his past but he came to me for my protection and in return for his aid I’ve granted it; I understand that you’ve been busy here and may not know but he’s already proven himself loyal to the Alliance and by attacking him you attack me. I will not tolerate further aggression. By either of you.”

“I apologize.” Anduin supposed that the stiffness with which Jaina spoke, never removing her cold gaze from the other man, was to be expected.

“As you wish, my Liege.” Nathanos had already begun to walk away.

“Where are you going? I haven’t dismissed you!” A hint of annoyance had been allowed to bleed into his voice but at that point Anduin didn’t care. He expected Nathanos to stop immediately and return, being as he seemed in the business of pleasing him in furtherance of his own goals, but he didn’t. It was clear from the set of his shoulders that something had left him truly bothered. “Nathanos!”

“Keep your company, Wrynn!” He almost seemed to melt into the shadows and, between one blink and the next, was gone. Though Anduin doubted the larger man had gone far, especially considering the persistent sensation of burning eyes on him, he couldn’t help but feel a little bit worried.

“Anduin.” Jaina sounded simultaneously disgruntled and tired.

“He’s not a monster.”

His adoptive Aunt fixed him in a look that was almost pitying. “I thought that about Thrall, once.” She said. “I don’t want to see Stormwind go the same way Theramore did. Don’t want to see you hurt or killed because you trusted the wrong person.”

Anduin shook his head. “I can save him. I know I can.”

That same pitying look remained on her face but, likely sensing he wouldn’t be moved, Jaina didn’t say anything further on the matter.

“I’m not sure what’s gotten into him today.” The puppy who’d been left behind by Nathanos and the two older hounds whined and pawed at his leg. Anduin bent down with a sigh and picked her up, gently running his fingers up and down her back. “He isn’t normally this agitated.”

Aware that attempting to take their conversation any further in that direction would yield no results Jaina concerned herself with introducing her mother and brother and updating him on goings on in Kul Tiras. Everything that she and the Champions of the Alliance, sent on the behalf of their faction as a whole, had gone through with Ashvane’s duplicity, the corruption of the House of Stormsong and the madness which had gone on in Drustvar. By the time the tale had finished and the provided meal had come to an end Anduin bid his adoptive Aunt a polite farewell and accompanied Taelia back to the room which had been specially prepared for him, bidding her a polite goodnight and farewell before stepping inside.

He’d hoped to find Nathanos waiting for him in the expansive suit but was disappointed to find it empty. Sighing, Anduin crossed the room and set Boots down in the middle of the bed. “I’m sure he’ll be back before morning.” He said, pausing to scratch behind her ears. “I’m going to wash up. You behave yourself.”

Boots snorted at him indignantly, as if to say ‘when have I ever misbehaved?’ Anduin smiled at her, pulled a set of comfortable night clothes from the trunk of belongings he’d brought with him, and headed towards the bathroom. Pausing, almost as an afterthought, to open the windowed folding doors leading out onto the balcony as he passed.

The bathroom was large and well appointed, the stone walls abetting the perfumed steam in gathering along the floor like ocean fog. Filling the basin with warm water, Anduin removed his armor and sank down into the water.

He wasn’t certain how long he spent there, and didn’t hear anyone come in, but couldn’t help but hope that when he emerged it would be to find Nathanos waiting for him but the room appeared empty. If Nathanos was there, he wasn’t showing himself. A cold wind from outside ruffled the curtains and Anduin shivered, crossing the room and firmly shutting the doors.

“Nothing left to do but get ready for tomorrow I suppose.” He said, hearing Boots shift atop the bed. “I’ll be touring the area around Boralus with Taelia and attempting to hint at a potential between us, if only to do my due diligence in appeasing Genn.”

Opening his trunk and pawing through the selection of shirts, he chose one at random and turned to the lead glass mirror which hung on the wall only to almost leap out of his skin when he saw a pair of lamp like eyes gazing back at him.

“Nathanos!” The young King pressed a hand to his chest as the Dark Ranger Lord left the corner he’d been occupying and stalked towards him. Unwavering gaze set on his naked form. “You frightened me.”

No response. Reaching out a hand and taking the shirt he held from him, Nathanos held it up against his chest and frowned. “This collar is too low.”

Anduin turned his head to look up at him and raised an eyebrow. “And you’re not jealous?”

“Not jealous, no,” he snapped, “but I _don’t_ share. Certainly not with some random woman you’ve never met. No matter who her father was.”

“Usually,” Anduin snickered, “the reason people ‘don’t share’ is because they’re jealous.”

Nathanos tossed the shirt aside with a growl and spun him around. Hands cold against his bare hips. Fingers biting into the skin there. “Keep this up, Wrynn, and I might just have to remind you of to whom you belong.”

“Oh?” Anduin repeated, interest stirring both on his face and elsewhere. “How would you go about doing that?”

“The same way I’d go about it with a hound.” He growled. “A collar.”

Anduin’s eyes widened at the unexpected curl of arousal in his belly. The thought of being collared, of all that that entailed and all that the larger man could likely think up to do to him making use of it, darkening them with lust. “I don’t think I’d mind that.”

“Imbecile.” But the purr of his voice softened the word considerably. “Words.”

“We’ve been over-.”

“ _Words,_ Wrynn!”

Anduin huffed. “Blue and gold.”

“Good boy.” Seizing his shoulder roughly, Nathanos spun him around and pushed him forward. “On the bed.”

Clumsily, ousting Boots from her claimed position, Anduin did as he was told. The Hound, unbothered by his nudity, attempted to reclaim his lap only for Nathanos to place her on the floor. Languidly, he crawled atop the bed himself. Pulling Anduin forward into a demanding kiss which soon revealed itself a distraction as the next thing the young King knew, kiss bruised and panting, his hair was falling free about his shoulders and Nathanos had taken custody of the ribbon used to hold it back.

“Wrists.” Though confused as to his motives, Anduin extended his arms towards the other man. Nathanos made quick use of the ribbon, tying his wrist, then running it along a post of the bed and tying his other. Effective bound to the bed, Anduin looked up at him in an almost helpless bafflement. Testing his bonds and finding them secure, but not painful.

Nathanos’ red eyes took in the view now laid out before him; the young King, arms pinned above his head, stared with glassy eyes, lips wet red and parted and chest rising and falling rapidly. The racing of his heart visible in the side of his throat.

Almost of their own accord, his hands wandered across the pale body beneath him. Tracing along his ribs. Mapping the curve of his hip, the life of a noble lending him softer edges along the protrusions of his bones than a peasant would have had. His skin was warm, with life and with the residual heat of the water he’d been soaking in, and the hunger that that fact lit in him was something he couldn’t comprehend; not only the familiar hunger for flesh which was a symptom of the curse he bore but a deeper, bleaker hunger for something that he’d lost long ago. Something he could never get back. Didn’t understand. But was somehow satisfied by Anduin, and Anduin alone.

What was it about this damned overly trusting incredibly naive Priest which made him harder to break free of than a riptide? Then the force which anchored their feet to Azeroth itself? What was it about him that made him necessary in a way he simply couldn’t comprehend, to the point where his body craved him the way that it had once craved food and rest and water? He hated him. Hated him. Hated how badly he needed him.

Hated how the idiot King, without lifting a finger, unaware that he was even doing anything at all, had managed, when he was with him like this, in a way which should have been a release of pent up frustration and nothing more, to make him almost feel alive again.

Dipping his head to his chest, seeking that lost warmth, Nathanos began the thorough process of exploring the area of his clavicle with his lips and tongue. Littering his chest with bite marks which made the Priest arch and moan. Tugging fruitlessly at his bonds. Paying special attention to the portion of his chest which would be revealed by the collar of the shirt which the young King had intended to wear the next day.

Even slated to die when the resultant panic would most wound the Alliance, for the time he yet had remaining Anduin Wrynn was _his_. And no one encroached on his territory and got away with it. Certainly not some Kul Tiran raised harbor guard who could never make him flushed, glassy eyed and hard the way that he could. No, she could never compare! And Nathanos had every intention of ensuring she never got the chance!

“Beautiful, Wrynn.” It was harsh and husky but, Nathanos realized with a jolt, he meant it. Though he’d never come close to an Elf, Anduin was truly gorgeous for a Human.

Likely responding more to his voice than any real comprehension of what he’d said, Anduin whined. Attempting to buck his hips when Nathanos gripped his shaft. Stroking him, slowly, while examining his reactions. Urging him onward to his release and watching him shudder against the sheets.

Dismounting the bed, the Dark Ranger Lord went to collect a cloth to wipe off his hand only to hear a thin voice pipe up a quavering “what about you?”

Those dark, hazy eyes were intently focused on him when Nathanos turned his head to look. “We aren’t done, Wrynn. Never you worry.” He said, setting the cloth aside and sauntering back to where he’d left him tied. Reaching out to free the bonds from his wrists. “On your knees.”

Anduin sat up and slid off the bed onto the stone floor, wincing at the protest of his old wounds, and was soon gazing up at him from a lower position. Tilting his head in confusion when presented with the other man before what was expected of him seemed to click in his head.

“I’ve never…” he trailed off, self-conscious.

“I’m sure you can figure it out.” Nathanos said. “You’re good with your words, Wrynn. Let’s put that mouth of yours to better use.”

The young King blinked again then returned his attention to the problem before him. Briefly appearing to calculate his next move before reaching out with his warm, thin-strangely still gloved-fingers. Hesitantly stroking a few times before plucking up the courage to lean forward and press his mouth to the sensitive flesh. Run the tip of his tongue clumsily along the large vein underneath. Finally taking the tip into his mouth and suckling on it. The uncertainty on his face rapidly transforming into a determined mischief prompted by the hiss and groan he managed to draw from the larger man. Taking more and more of his length into his throat until Nathanos had to seize him by the hair.

Watering blue eyes peered up through dark lashed, red lips stretched tight around him. “Slowly.” Gently, he ran his fingers through the King’s long golden hair. Scratching nails along his scalp. “Don’t choke yourself.”

If anything, the cautioning seemed to serve as a challenge. Taking more and more of him into his mouth intel Nathanos gave up the effort to restrain him. Repeated attempts to take him to the root meeting with portioned failure until Anduin finally gave in and applied his hands to what he couldn’t reach until “enough!”

Anduin released him with a pop only after prompting by a sharp tug on his hair. Replacing the blonde’s mouth with his hand, a few sharp tugs taking him to his peak too quickly for Anduin to pull away.

Face flecked white, the blonde blinked up at him. Brow slightly furrowed. Perplexed but, apparently, not dismayed.

The boiling feeling inside him finally calmed, satisfied-for the time being-that he’d marked the Priest enough.

Anduin wiped a portion of his release from his cheek, examining it a moment before bringing his finger to his mouth. Nathanos seized his wrist before he could.

“Don’t do that, you savage!”

“Oh, I’m a savage for being curious but cumming in my face is perfectly civilized.” He sounded amused, rather than upset, but Nathanos still scoffed and pulled him upright. Pushing him down onto the edge of the bed.

“Stay.” Anduin resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Nathanos ducked into the bathroom, reemerging a moment later with a wet cloth. Gently, tilting his chin upwards, he set about the process of wiping his face clean. Fingers lingering a moment longer than strictly necessary before he rose to his feet again.”

“I overstepped?” a gruff demand.

“No.” He said. “But I’d have appreciated a bit of a warning. I suppose that’s something to be kept in mind in the future.” Nathanos set the wet cloth aside. “I don’t mind a bit of possession as long as it doesn’t get out of hand.”

A grunt. “Wrists.”

“Oh? Tying me up again so soon?” Anduin grinned, extending crossed arms.

Nathanos ignored him, taking his wrists and turning them over. Inspecting them for signs of bruising. Apparently satisfied when he found none. “Go to bed, Anduin.”

As he tried to release his hands and pull away Anduin reversed their hold so that he was the one who had Nathanos by the wrist. The older large man could have easily pulled away and there would have been little he could have done to stop it. But he didn’t. Simply turned his head to glare with those glowing sanguine eyes. “Stay.” He said. “Please.”

For a moment he looked as if he might agree, but it passed quickly. “No matter how often you ask the answer will always be the same.” But, unlike he had before, he didn’t immediately bolt for the window.

Sighing, Anduin made his way over to where he’d left his night clothes and pulled them on before climbing into bed with a small sigh.

“Have things your way, then.” He said. “Goodnight, Nathanos.”

The Dark Ranger Lord didn’t offer a response, bending to collect Boots from the floor. Rather than leaving with her, and only after a moment’s hesitation, Nathanos set the puppy on the foot of the bed and exited the room. His form melting into the shadows outside before the door had fully closed.

Boots whined at him, flopping down atop the sheets without a moment’s notice and curling up beside him. The young King shook his head and reached out to snuff the candle.

“You know, Bootsy,” he said with another tired sigh, “I don’t know either.”


	21. Exceptions and Formalities

He opened his eyes the next morning to the glowing gaze of the puppy beside him, and promptly treated his face to licks and tail wags until he was forced to sit up and free himself. Setting her down in his lap once he’d done so and scratching absently behind her ears. The night before rested heavy on his mind, the phantom sensation of the result of their activities-and the almost tender way the other man had cleaned him-making his skin tingle.

His chest was tender, and shifting the fabric which covered it in leading him to wince, and when he pulled back the collar and glanced down at himself, he quickly discovered why.

“Oh, by the Light!”

Hickies, dark violet and a few bearing discernable teeth marks, littered the upper half of his body. The vast majority were clustered around his collar bone like a necklace. Carefully, Anduin reached up a hand to investigate one of the more tender bruises only to almost jump out of his skin when Nathanos’ voice issued from the foot of the bed.

“I do believe we came to an agreement on such matters, Wrynn.” He growled, glaring. “You heal what you can’t hide and nothing more!”

Had he been watching him sleep? “You know, Than, if you wanted me to wear a different shift today all you had to do was ask.”

The larger man scoffed and turned away and turned for the door. “We’ve that damnable tour to attend.” He said. “If we’re late, the mutt might come looking.”

“Am I going to have to give up on any hopes of you two ever getting along?”

“Yes!” The door shut firmly behind him.

Anduin sighed and slid off the bed, wandering over to his trunk and digging around for a while before he located a shirt with a high enough collar to hide the marks that he’d been left with. Lifting Boots down from the bed and collecting the last of his things Anduin descended the stairs. Greeting the inn keep who stood behind the bar and pausing to pet the sleeping cat curled atop it with one hand-while holding Boots back with the other-before trotting out into the frigid morning.

Nathanos didn’t say a word to him and trailed his steps down the road to the little bakery where they’d arranged to meet the day before. Taelia was waiting for him at a small table in the far corner, accompanied by the red headed man he vaguely remembered seeing leaned against the wall of the Harbormaster’s office.

At the realization that they wouldn’t have been alone, even if he hadn’t accompanied them, Nathanos relaxed somewhat.

“Anduin.” Taelia rose to greet him with a clumsy curtsy; it was clear she was far more comfortable in her role as a Harbor Guard than anywhere near a royal court. He could sympathize. “Good morning.”

“Good morning to you as well.” He lightly kissed her hand, watching her face tint pink. Behind him, Nathanos growled. “It’s good to see you again.”

“You as well.”

Blue eyes shifted onto the other man. “Who’s this?”

“Flynn Fairwind, your Highness. Reformed pirate, full time Rogue. In more ways than one.” Anduin grinned. Taelia rolled her eyes but was clearly struggling not to laugh. “Though I must say that speaking directly to a King is a new one.”

“Well, I’ve never spoken directly to a pirate before, reformed or otherwise, so it’s a new one for me as well.”

“Have a seat, please.” Taelia seemed to hesitate a moment before saying “both of you.”

“Thank you.” Anduin lowered himself into the indicated chair. Nathanos, however, simply took up a position-dark and imposing-behind him. “Are these pastries?” he indicated the plate of steaming buns set in the middle of the table.

“The best in Boralus.” She nudged the plate towards him. “Have one.”

Picking one of them up, feeling the way that the breading burned his fingers Anduin brought the pastry to his lips. Chocolate and wild berries. The young King couldn’t help but be taken somewhat off guard by the potency of the flavor. “Taelia was watching him over the top of her own pastry with laugher in her eyes.

“Good?”

“Very.” Anduin turned his head to look up at Nathanos. “You should try one.”

He’d expected the other to refuse, a he always had before regarding food, and denounce such things as useless to him in his current state. Instead, he gripped the young King’s wrist to bring it closer and, threatening gaze set on Taelia, took a bite.

Between the tamped down urge to laugh and a mild sense of exasperation Anduin couldn’t help but think it a surprisingly small and dainty bite, though whether that was a function of his wanting to eat as little as possible while still thinking he was asserting some point or something else Anduin had no way of being sure.

“Quite the ‘first mate’ you’ve got yourself, Anduin.” Flynn snickered, the intentional suggesting in his voice tinting the blonde’s face a cotton candy red. “Oh, don’t look embarrassed. I’ve seen weirder things on the open sea.”

“I’m afraid I can’t allow such matters to even be joked about.” Anduin said. “Given my position I can’t afford such rumors to come about, if they don’t already exist, or to strengthen if they do.”

“It must be a royal pain, being a King.” Flynn said.

Anduin fixed him in a tired gaze. “Believe me, Fairwind, you’ve no idea.”

The rest of their breakfast passed with amiable conversation, aside from Nathanos whom remained reticently silent. Dour gaze unceasing.

Once the meal concluded, they bid Flynn farewell and left the little café behind. Heading out into the market itself and wandering around the stalls for a while, the pair doing their best to ignore the annoyance radiating off Nathanos like heat from an open flame.

A wide array of fish and sea creatures which Anduin had never seen before, jewel bright shells and scales gleaming in the light of the sun. Baubles and jewels and artifacts of unknowable sorts on sale by massive bipedal turtles who were more than happy to entertain Anduin’s rapid fire questions until the Dark Ranger lost his patience and dragged him away. An impressive array of spice accompanied by the scent of salt and flowers in the air; Anduin selected a few he thought his kitchen staff might enjoy working with and then purchased a pink and white carnation to give to Taelia, who smiled and thanked him over Nathanos’ indignant huff. Briefly, he wondered how the man might react if he were given a flower as well.

He’d probably throw it at him. The thought made Anduin want to laugh.

From there, they moved onto the rich district of Boralus; a well-appointed drive directly in the shadow of Proudmoore Hold. Proceeding passed a burbling fountain and along a winding path before coming to a stop at the foot of a towering statue of the former Lord Admiral.

“Anduin,” she looked hesitant, fingers worrying at the stem of the flower in her hands “don’t think for a moment that you’re not an amazing man. But…I think I’ve a responsibility to let you know, before this goes any further, that…well…”

“You know exactly what this visit is a pretense for and are only indulging me for the sake of getting someone else off your back on a matter? At least for a while?”

“I…well, to say the least.” She said. “Nothing against you. It’s just…the position of Queen isn’t one I envy. I’ve always believed in marrying for love, not for politics.”

“I’ve always believed the same but known I’ve never had that choice.” Anduin said with a sigh, then smiled. “But, really, this comes as a relief.”

“How so?”

“You’re an amazing person, Taelia, never doubt that. But I don’t think we could ever be more than friends.” He said. “Not only that, but you’re not the only one who’s trying to appease someone.”

“King Greymane?”

“Three points for a correct first guess.” Anduin said, leaning back against the pedestal of the statue behind them. “You?”

“Cyrus thinks a King is a better choice than an ex-pirate.”

“We love who we love. Light willing, things work out for the better.” He said. “You two are cute together.”

“Thank you, Anduin.” She said, a nervous glance darting over to where Nathanos loomed nearby. “I…can’t really say the same about the two of you.”

“We’re not in a relationship.” A measure of sadness had entered his voice, the hue of his eyes dulling.

“But you want to be?”

“I…it’s complicated.” He glanced over at where Nathanos stood glaring.

“He certainly seems attached to you, either way.”

“I am _not_ attached to this imbecile!” It was the first thing Nathanos had said all morning since leaving their room at the Snug Harbor.

“Ah, denial never fails.”

“I’d advise you, Fordragon, not to attempt to speak on matters you don’t understand.”

“Nathanos, be nice.”

“I don’t do ‘nice’, Wrynn!”

Taelia was grinning, though she still appeared somewhat nervous in the presence of the towering Dark Ranger. Anduin grinned as well.

“He says that but it’s only half true.” Anduin ignored Nathanos’ hiss from behind him. “He does to do nice.”

“Wrynn!”

Anduin and Taelia laughed.

“I’m afraid I have to head out to my post now, Anduin.” She said. “I’ll see you at the state dinner tonight. You’ll be alright finding your way back?”

“I believe so.” Anduin said. “If nothing else I’m sure Nathanos will keep me from getting too terribly lost. I’ll see you later.”

With a last exchange of smiles the pair parted ways, Taelia trotting off to take her place among the Harbor Guard leaving the pair alone at the great statue’s foot.

Anduin turned his head up to gaze into the bronze features of the statue’s face, framed by the clear blue hue of the open sky.

“Jaina and I are the same in one aspect of our loss, at least. Neither one of us got to bury our father.” He said. “Hers was lost to the sea. Mines…ashes. But at least we know what happened to them. At least we have somewhere to go and mourn. At least we have the closure to allow our wounds to heal. I can’t imagine how I’d feel if I had no idea what happened to him.”

“What does this dribble have to do with anything?” Nathanos snapped, posture defensive.

“I wanted to bring in someone you might have had ties to. Reunite you with some semblance of your family. So I had Valeera look into your past.”

“You _what_?”

“Stephon went missing after the Legion returned. The Argent Crusade couldn’t find him and was ultimately forced to proclaim him dead.”

“He is dead.” There was a rawness to his voice that he tried, desperately, to conceal beneath a vicious snap. “Sylvanas saw to that. The Paladin had killed enough of our people. It was justice for them.”

“Was it?”

“…Perhaps not in the way it happened.” He was hedging, but Anduin had no intention of allowing him to get away with it.

“The way it happened?” he repeated. Nathanos’ glaze seemed to dart around the square, almost as if he were looking for an escape. “What do you mean?”

Silence, drawn out and heavy. Finally, Nathanos closed his eyes. Seeming almost to curl in on himself. “I know that some study of Dark magic and Necromancy are included in Priestly studies. At least enough to recognize the hallmarks of the practice when you see them.” He said. “Don’t make me say it, damn you!”

“I can’t imagine-.”

“ _I don’t want you pity! Or your ‘understanding’!”_

“I’m not offering pity. And I doubt that I ever could understand.” He said. “Did you bury him?”

“There was nothing left _to_ bury.”

“And yet my father has a grave.” Anduin said. “That’s what you do for the people that you care about. You mark their passing. You remember them.”

“Your pinheaded worldview is so stupidly simple!”

“It’s hardly a complicated issue.” He said. “Does he have any sort of grave?”

“What use are graves to the dead?” Nathanos snarled, attempting to turn away. “They only serve a purpose for those left behind.”

Anduin bounded around the other man, ignoring the way the sudden movement stressed his leg, and blocked his path. “ _You_ were left behind.” He said. “If nothing else, it gives you a chance to mourn.”

“ _I killed him!_ ” He snapped. “I don’t _deserve_ to mourn!”

It was probably a good thing that the square which they were in was otherwise unoccupied aside from them. They’d have attracted stares otherwise. “Then it would give you a chance to ask forgiveness.”

Nathanos bared his teeth like a rabid dog, every muscle in his body clenched tight as if he were restraining the urge to lash out at him. “There is no grave. So, what manner of ‘place’ a grave is and what such a place might be meant for is of no consequence. Drop the matter before my composure runs thinner than it already is.”

He’d nettled him enough, he supposed. “Of course. I apologize.” Offering a contrite smile, Anduin filed away the need to put in an order for a gravestone in the back of his head.

“We’ve still about three hours before we need to be present at the state dinner.” Anduin said. “Is there anything that you’d like to do since we’re here in Boralus?”

“I’ve little concern for such inanities.” Nathanos drawled. “Entertain yourself by poking around this city more if you must but I’ve no particular desire to ‘discover’ anything.”

Anduin sighed and started down a street at random, trailed as ever by his dour companion. Resigned to a few more hour’s further exploration.

Boralus truly was a beautiful city, though it would never have anywhere near the same place in his heart as Stormwind did, with its white stone and multicolored rooftops. But the scenery around the city, especially the snow-capped mountains and the glittering sea, were spectacular. And the way that the sunlight reflected off the clam surface of the water in shades of wine and gold, reminded him of home.

Night had painted the dark sky an inky black color, gleaming with the silver lights of stars. Accompanied by Bleak and Goliath, Boots-dressed with a new bejeweled collar-and Nathanos Anduin made his way along the cobbled streets and in through the gates of Proudmoore Hold. The guards stationed outside greeted him, if only on formality, and led him inside; down a well-appointed hall and into a grandiose sitting room with a long table at its center.

At its head, as would be expected of Lord Admiral, sat Jaina with her mother and brother to her right and left. Cyrus, as well as Taelia and a number of other officials whom Anduin didn’t recognize. Genn sat to Tandred’s left, glaring at Nathanos who ignored him. At the table’s opposite head, the position of honor had been reserved for Anduin and the chair just beside it, presumably, left empty for Nathanos as well. Though whether or not the Dark Ranger Lord could be convinced to actually sit down, rather than loom behind him like a specter, was up for debate.

After exchanging customary pleasantries, except for Nathanos who greeted what few shaky acknowledgements were aimed in his direction with a piercing glare, Anduin claimed his seat and, after a moment, the other man joined him.

“You’ve enjoyed your stay so far, King Anduin?” Tandred drew his attention from the opposite end of the table.

“Very much so.” Anduin said. “Kul Tiras is truly beautiful. And Taelia here has been doing a fantastic job showing me around so far.”

Nathanos huffed and folded his arms.

“It’s good to know you’re getting along.” Genn shot a narrowed glare at the Dark Ranger. “You spend too much time with him. It worries me.”

“Nathanos is better company than he liked to present himself as being in public.” A small smile tugged on his lips as a somewhat betrayed gaze landed on him. “Oh, don’t look at me like that Nathanos. You’re perfectly pleasant, at least comparatively, when out of the public eye.”

“Perhaps that’s simply due to a desire not to be tossed out into the cold.”

“Oh, pish. You know better and so do I.” Anduin swatted at him lightly. “You’re not doing yourself any favors preserving that image.”

“What image?” Nathanos growled, but Anduin apparently lost interest and allowed the subject to drop.

The sudden entrance of a number of servants, all holding covered platters of food, prevent Nathanos from reviving it. One each was set before them all, including the Dark Ranger Lord who eyed his as if the polished pewter were some repugnant creature from the Twisting Nether.

“I don’t do food.” He sneered. “At this point such a thing is a waste of time and energy.”

Genn frowned, eyes narrowing, and leaned forward on his elbows; there was something akin to a threat in his posture and Anduin tensed. “After all the trouble I went through to extend an olive branch by specifically requesting the proper fare of your kind be provided by the servants here the least that you can do is make an effort to pretend.”

“My kind?” Nathanos bristled.

Wanting to diffuse the situation Anduin all but lunged across the table and pulled off the lid, revealing the slab of raw meat lying on the plate beneath.

“This is absolutely unacceptable.” The restrained anger in his voice was enough to give pause to whatever reaction Nathanos would otherwise have had, drawing red eyes which were now cautiously curious. Genn simply offered an expression of false innocence which fanned the flames of Anduin’s indignance. “Nathanos may pathologically toe the line of my patience but you have crossed it; I thought you’d learned something in the wake of what happened in Arathi but clearly I was wrong.”

“Anduin-.”

“No. Enough. We’ll speak on this matter later, when we’re _not_ with company. I intend to see this behavior put to end.” Turning his gaze onto their audience, he offered a canned apology before ordering a servant to take the raw meat away. That done, he lifted Boots from the floor and set her on his lap in hopes that petting her would help to calm his temper.

Tandred, offering up a bright smile which thoroughly convinced Anduin he liked him a great deal, mercifully took the initiative to steer dinner conversation into a more pleasant direction.

Genn sulked and Nathanos, as usual, remained sullenly silent until dinner came to an end. After bidding Taelia and the other attendees who were but strangers to him a polit goodnight, Anduin found himself approached by Katherine who offered him the use of her office within the Hold as a staging ground for the brewing ‘conversation’. An offer which the young King was happy to ignore him for the time being.

“I understand, Genn, that you believe you’re doing what’s best for me and I truly do appreciate the matter but I’m not certain if you understand how it looks to others when you do these things.” Anduin reached up to massage his temples. “I cannot tolerate being undermined. Certainly not in the midst of a brutal war with the Horde and when my position, at least for the time being, is already ill respected in some circles. I cannot tolerate these petty squabbles.”

“’Petty squabbles’, as you call them, indeed should be the least of your concerns, Anduin, when it comes to the Blightcaller.” Genn said. “I’d really like to know why the pair of you smell as if he’s been doing more than ‘guarding’ you?”

Anduin turned bright red, internally cursing, and opened his mouth to justify himself only to have his mind go helpfully blank. How had he managed to overlook the possibility that Genn, being a Worgen, might be able to pick up something strange regarding their scents. He had commented about being able to smell the fact that Nathanos had merely been in his Chambers. Light, just the night before they’d-.”

Thankfully the Dark Ranger Lord acted quickly to cover their hides. Though the rather disgusted sneer on his face sent a splinter of pain burrowing between his ribs. “Utterly vapid of you to even suggest such a thing, Greymane!” He snapped. “I am not in any way attracted to men.”

And it was true. He wasn’t into men. _Anduin,_ however, and much to his annoyance, was a notable exception. And the well-hidden flash of pain on the young Priest’s face when he denied him, if indirectly, made Nathanos feel like a hound who’d just been scolded. The urge to crawl to him on his belly and plead forgiveness at his feet was swiftly strangled.

“Oh, but how could I forget? Your ‘type’ are treacherous Elven witches.”

“Decide, Greymane, whether you’re grieving me because of this ridiculous delusion of yours that I’m fucking your King when no one’s looking or rather because I’ve no desire to!”

“I should hope not, Blightcaller! He knows better than to allow himself such an…unnatural relationship; in more ways than one! And even if he didn’t, he deserves better than _you_!”

“ _He_ is standing right here and would really rather not be spoken of as if he were deaf, absent or a piece of furniture!” Anduin said, annoyance threading through his words. Both older men turned their heads to look at him. “Now, if the two of you are done discussing me as if I’m a dowered bride I think we’re finished here. I’m returning to the Snug Harbor.”

Turning abruptly and with a wounded air about him which he seemed to be attempting to hide Anduin made for the door. Greymane seemed nonplussed as to why but Nathanos thought that he could guess at the reason and was infuriated to realize that it flooded him with guilt.

They didn’t manage to make it very far before the former Arch Mage, current Lord Admiral of Kul Tiras, appeared to block their path.

“Had your talk with Genn?”

“I have.”

“Are you alright, Anduin?” she sounded genuinely concerned, every aspect of her posture oozing a familial familiarity which bothered Nathanos to no end. “You seem hurt.”

“I’m fine. Thank you, Jaina. It’s just…the stress.” He pulled a small smile onto his face. A fake one. Forced. Dull. Lukewarm, and only barely even then. “We were just heading back to Snug Harbor; I’m looking forward to a bit of sleep.”

“I can imagine. And sympathize.” Jaina herself looked a bit tired. “I won’t keep you for long, Anduin, but wanted to make certain that you knew where to meet tomorrow.”

“The Flightmaster’s stand, yes.” He said, smiling. “I’m really looking forward to whatever this ‘surprise’ you have in mind is.”

“I certainly hope it won’t disappoint.” Jaina offered a smile of her own. “I’m sure that you’ll enjoy yourself tomorrow.”

“As am I. Goodnight, Aunt Jaina.”

They exited the Hold at last, then, much to Nathanos’ relief. The night was very dark at that hour and too cold for what the young King had on, at least by the Dark Ranger’s estimation. He caught his hands just as his fingers had begun working at the antler clasp and forced them back to his side. Wrynn would be fine, even if it had been cold enough to snow. There was absolutely no reason for him to hand over his own cloak.

As he trailed behind him, the withered desire to fuss over the blonde-really, the living were so fragile it sometimes struck him as ridiculous-which had dragged itself free of the crooked doorway of some crypt within his broken soul like an animal run over by a noble’s carriage but not yet having managed to die, was not the only urge which prickled him as they wound their way back through Boralus’ streets towards Tradewind’s Market.

Alone in the darkness and quiet but for their hounds, Nathanos allowed himself to act on the second one.

Quickening his pace, the Dark Ranger Lord reached out a hand and grasped a firm hold of the young King’s shoulder. Forcing him to stop and turn to face him. He didn’t speak immediately, simply motioning to a nearby alleyway. A moment passed before Anduin followed.

“I wanted to make certain you understood that I merely said what I had to in order to satisfy the mutt.” He kept his back to the younger man, refusing to face him. “As you surely remember, having been the one to mention it before, your position can’t afford for such clandestine things to be getting out. Certainly not to fall into the knowledge of someone as volatile as Greymane.”

“Are you saying that, in truth, you’ve been using Sylvanas as a beard all along?” Anduin sounded half-amused.

Nathanos turned his head just enough to glare at him. “I’m saying that there’s an exception to every rule.” He growled. “And that you’re one to a great many.”

Another smile, this one genuine, had found itself was onto his face. “You find me attractive, ‘Than. Is that what you’re saying?”

Nathanos’ answer wasn’t verbal, one hand gripping a firm hold of his chin with taloned fingertips. Cold lips pressing against his while cold stone dug into his back. Anduin hummed and gripped the taller man’s broad shoulder, content to ride out the possessive kiss for however long it might last.

It ended too quickly, in his view, and Nathanos pulled away. Back, once again, to his gruff demeanor and aloof mannerisms. “Don’t just stand there like an idiot. We’ve still quite a ways to go before we make it back to that inn.”


	22. A Royal Tour

“You’re going out in _that_?” Nathanos’ glowing eyes looked him over disdainfully, raking across the thin silk ensemble-a ruffled shirt in pastel blue and a set of sturdy riding pants-he had on. “Kul Tiras is cold, Wrynn! You’ll freeze while we’re out.”

“Freeze?” he repeated with a dismissive snort. “I appreciate your concern, ‘Than, I really do. But it’s unnecessary. While you’re right that Kul Tiras is colder than Elwynn I’ll be able to handle it. My only real worry is how it’ll effect my leg.”

Nathanos huffed at him but said nothing else, simply crossing his powerful arms across his wide chest. Anduin busied himself with the last portion of his preparations and straightened his gloves so that they laid flat against his wrists.

“Well,” the young King chirped, “shall we?”

If he’d expected a response from the larger man, he didn’t get one. Nathanos simply whistled sharply to his hounds and whirled out the door. Grinning, Anduin trotted after.

The bar below the rooms on offer by the inn was full despite the early hour; the vast majority of patrons were simply enjoying a full breakfast but a few of the most weathered among them were already head deep in a stein. The same cat from the day prior was once again asleep atop the bar.

Anduin bid a friendly hello to those awake and sober enough to process the fact they were being spoken too before stepping out into the early morning light. Seagulls shrieked with piercing voices, floating on the salted wind above them. Nathanos shot a vicious glare in their direction but didn’t slow his steady pace.

When they finally arrived at the Flightmaster’s stand Nathanos’ posture had become so still Anduin worried his spine might snap at any moment. Needless to say, coaxing the man onto the back of a griffin was nearly as difficult as coaxing the griffin to take him, but never the less they ultimately managed to get travel underway.

No matter where in Kul Tiras he went Anduin couldn’t help but find the natural scenery beautiful. Tirigarde Sound was an incredible tapestry of frothing white caps and craggy bluffs. Stormsong Valley, in contrast, was a rolling swath of hilly emerald farmland. In the distance, along the impressive slate face of a towering cliff, a massive squid motif had been carved into the stone.

Jaina waited for them beside the Flightmaster’s stand, her staff in hand and a smile on her face. Nathanos was in such a hurry to escape their mounts that he flung himself over the railing and landed with a less than graceful thud on the grass below, his hounds quick to follow.

“Good morning, Aunt Jaina.” Anduin, in contrast, made a point of calmly walking down the stairs. “Is that my surprise you’re hiding over there?” He motioned to the distortion of water and arcane magic visible just off the shore.

“That’s your surprise: a proper affirmation of Kul Tiras’ renewed allegiance to the Alliance.” Jaina waved a hand and the distortion faded, revealing what had been hidden behind it.

Nathanos muttered something in Gutterspeak which sounded alarmed. Anduin couldn’t help but feel well and truly shocked himself by the sheer size of the titanic flagship bobbing on the waves. From bow to stern it was three times the length of _The Wind’s Redemption_ , its massive body rising high above the calm pale blue waves. The Kul Tiran sail and Stormwind flag trailing from the mast rippled in the icy wind.

“She’s called _Tiffin’s Melody_.” Jaina told him softly, setting a hand on his shoulder. “She was built by the best shipwright in Kul Tiras; the same woman who made my father’s flagship. May she serve the Alliance well.”

“I’m sure she will.” Anduin said. “Jaina, truly, this is incredible. Well above and beyond anything I had any right to expect.”

Above and beyond was right; this thing dwarfed any ship he’d ever seen! Towering hull and mast above even the largest vessel possessed by the Zandalari. How many of these leviathans did Kul Tiras, and the Alliance through them, have? And how many of the legends about Kul Tiran made ships were true?

“Want to take a closer look?” Jaina asked.

Anduin smiled. “Definitely!”

“Must we ride another of those avian freaks in order to get there?” Nathanos demanded, shooting a glare over his shoulder.

Jaina followed his gaze with a quirked eyebrow but heeded Anduin’s swift head shake and didn’t mention it. “I can teleport us onto the decks. Just give me a moment.”

Much as she had during the Siege of Lordaeron when the throne room’s ceiling had come down around their ears Jaina raised her hands and a thin shell of Arcane magic rose up around them. The sunlight which filtered through it taking on a strange violet hue. Anduin had just enough time to chance a glance at Nathanos and catch his dubious expression before the spell took effect.

With the same swooping feeling which he’d come to know as a hallmark of portal travel the grassy ground dropped from beneath them, replaced a moment later by the sturdy wooden slats of the deck. Anduin’s footing was off when he landed, one of his ankles giving way, and he pitched to the side, tried and failed to recover his balance and fell. Closing his eyes to brace for a bruising impact only to land against a softer surface than expected. A surface which huffed at him in indignant response.

When his eyes popped open, he was met with Nathanos’ narrowed gaze and he blushed, hands splayed across the cold chain mail breastplate he wore.

“Uh…thanks?”

If such a thing were possible the Dark Ranger’s eyes narrowed even more. “This isn’t the context in which I prefer to be straddled, Wrynn, so if you could immediately remove yourself, I’d be appreciative.” Face flaming, Anduin leapt to his feet so quickly that he nearly toppled over for a second time. Picking himself up as if he’d been insulted by anyone daring to force him to break their fall-and really, it wasn’t like he’d have gotten himself hurt by the tumble; Nathanos hadn’t needed to literally take the fall for him-he hissed “learn to stand!” and stalked off across the deck.

“They do say he’s mad,” Jaina watched his dark form retreat, trailed by the bouncing green puppy, “but I hadn’t entirely believed them until now. Is he always like that?”

“He tends to get a bit defensive, and lash out more than usual, when he starts to get fond of people. At least so I’ve found.”

“And just how ‘fond’ is he of you?”

“Enough to tolerate me while only growling every once in a while, and not following through with biting off my fingers like he does to everyone else.”

“As fond of you as rumors claim he was of Sylvanas?”

Anduin’s face fell. “No. Not that fond of me. And it’s better he isn’t.” He risked a glance at Nathanos, who’d taken up position leaned against the railing overlooking the water. The angle provided him with an unparalleled view of his wide back and his face in profile. “I could never act on my attractions. Not with my duties to the Alliance and my people as a whole being what they are.”

Much to his surprise Jaina reached out and pulled him into a tight embrace. “Laws can be changed. Perceptions can be shifted. And it’s possible for you to take both a Queen and a Consort. There are ways that you can set yourself up for happiness without having to set duty aside. Not that…I’d want you ending up with…”

“Him.” Jaina’s expression said enough. Anduin sighed and shook his head. “Not with the House of Nobles around. And not with my position already so precarious.” He said. “I’d be crucified.”

As much as Jaina looked like she wanted to have something to say against that assertion she sighed and released him. “You’re safe, at least?”

“My life is his life, at this point.” Anduin said. “I’m safe for as long as this war goes on.”

“And after?”

The young King shrugged, offering up a smile that didn’t fully touch his eyes. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, as they say.” He said. “Show me around?”

“Anduin-.”

“Please, Aunt Jaina.” He cut her off, gaze pleading. “Don’t make me go over all of this again. I’ve already had to lay it out for what feels like all of Azeroth.”

“Alright.” The former Arch Mage acquiesced, however reluctantly. “Alright. I’ll show you around the deck before we draw up anchor.”

“Draw up anchor?” the Priest tilted his head, the glint of sunlight off his long hair pulled the Dark Ranger’s sanguine gaze back to them. “Where are we going?”

“To take a pleasure cruise to Drustvar, where we’ll be joining Lady Jaina for a hunt.” She smirked at his look of brilliant surprise. “I know how much you love exploring, you didn’t think this ship was the end of your surprise did you?”

“How could I expect anything more than this?”

“Because I’m your Aunt,” Jaina turned and started leading him across the deck, “and I deliver for my favorite nephew.”

“Only nephew.” Anduin laughed.

“Right, well, maybe that has something to do with it too.”

Over their shared laughter Nathanos’ scoff was barely audible. His footsteps trailing at a distance.

“A classical Kul Tiran galleon, _Tiffen’s Melody_ stands 200 feet out of the water from surface to rail; 350 from surface to mast top.” Jaina informed him proudly, the butt of her staff tapping against the boards underfoot as they walked. “100 fully powered cannons total are on board, 50 to each side. Any one of them is capable of ripping holes in the hulls of lesser ships, like those tinder boxes floated by the Zandalari. Even the reinforced metal bodies of Orcish Cutters would be helpless against them. This ship, if nothing else, will be a terror to the Horde. To all the enemies of the Alliance.”

“Impressive.” Anduin didn’t miss the shrewd manner in which Nathanos peered around. Head tilted just far enough to make it clear that he was paying their words rapt attention.

“But that’s not all. _Tiffen’s Melody_ is also outfitted for royal inhabitation; no proper flagship wouldn’t be.” Jaina sped her pace. “The cabin is just this way.”

They passed through a doorway and descended the set of stairs which met them on the other side. Passing through the inner hull and then through another door which had barred their passage into the cabin itself.

The sumptuous bedroom on the other side looked as if it had been lifted directly from Stormwind Keep itself. A massive bed clothed in blue and gold sat in the center of the room, a crystal decanter of chilled wine sitting on a nearby end table. The back wall, though likely built of solid wood, had been enchanted to show an incredible view of the harbor in which the ship floated.

“Jaina,” Anduin sounded dumbstruck, “this is incredible.”

Nathanos crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe. “Well, it’s better than the _Blightcaller’s Solitude.”_

“The _Blightcaller’s Solitude?”_ Anduin’s grin only grew wider as Nathanos fixed him in a withering glare. “You had a ship too? And it was named after you?”

“Ship? No, Wrynn. The _Solitude_ is little different than I am: a rotting carcass raised from the grave by dark magic.” Nathanos grunted. “Last I knew, the damned thing was still anchored off the coast of Nazmir.”

“I hope it was at least seaworthy.”

Jaina’s admittedly rather poor attempt to extend an olive branch was met with a frigid stare. “What does sea worthy matter to sailors who can’t drown, ‘Daughter of the Sea’?”

To Jaina’s credit she didn’t fold to the desire to drop the conversation there. “It won’t be until tomorrow morning that we reach Falconhurst, where we’ll be meeting up with Lucille and the rest of the hunting party.” She said. “I’m sure we’ll be able to find you a place to stay.”

“Stay?” Nathanos repeated.

“For the night.”

Eyebrows raised and an expression on his face likely meant to provoke some manner of response, Nathanos raised his arms as if the indicate the room around them.

“Here? I’m afraid you can’t do that. This is Anduin’s room.”

“And as the High King’s body guard, Proudmoore, I must be present to watch over him at all hours.” He said. “One never knows, after all, when the Banshee Queen might send assassins after him.”

“It’s alright, Aunt Jaina,” Anduin said. “Even if you go through all the effort to put him up elsewhere, he’ll still insist on looming at the foot of my bed and the effort will be wasted.”

“I do _not_ loom, Wrynn.”

“Yes, you do. And you’re as aware of it as I am.” Anduin said. “Let’s not try and lie to ourselves now.”

Nathanos huffed. Anduin snickered and turned back to Jaina. “This really is amazing, Aunt Jaina. Thank you.” He said. “We’ll be setting out soon?”

“Any minute now.” Though she still looked less than pleased with matters Jaina fixed a smile on her face. “Want to watch them draw up anchor?”

Curious as ever, Anduin left the cabin behind and followed her back up onto the main deck. Nathanos trudging silently after.

Anduin spent the day posted at the railing watching the waves and the rolling shore slide by beside them. When night fell, after a quiet dinner, Anduin retired to the cabin.

“Look at the view.” He said, collapsing backwards onto the bed. “All those stars.”

Another huff, harsh and dismissive. “An arcane wall is no way to view the stars. You can’t feel the wind in here. Hear the waves.”

Blue eyes shifted to him, tinted violet with the darkness which hung like a soft pall over the room. “And where, then, would you suggest I view the stars instead?”

Smirking, expression sharp, Nathanos pointed upwards. “Crow’s nest, atop the mast.” He said. “Coming?”

Though he appeared hesitant, Anduin rose off the bed and followed him out of the cabin and back onto the deck. With the lateness of the hour there wasn’t a soul around to see them. The ship listed gently beneath their feet. Nathanos crossed to the tangle of rigging which extended down from the crow’s nest, far overhead near the top of the mast, and grasped a firm hold of it. Beginning to climb with an ease and grace which Anduin could only envy. Vanishing into the dark.

Hesitating once more, he grasped the creaking ropes and began to pull himself higher. Trying not to think of the way that the wind and the shift of the waves made the rigging swing beneath him.  Not to let his mind stray back to violet wings and iron talons locked around his middle.

Reaching the crow’s nest at last, he reached up to grab the wooden platform’s lip only to nearly lose his grip in alarm when clawed hands grabbed his own from out of the darkness. Blue eyes snapping up to flaring red ones. Nathanos’ fingers tightening until Anduin’s were forced to release the rigging entirely. For a moment, the fear that the Dark Ranger Lord might release him, let him fall to his death over a hundred feet below, popped into his head. Maybe it crossed Nathanos’ mind to do so, if only briefly, but then the larger man pulled back and lifted Anduin up and over the platform’s edge.

“Fear of heights?”

“Fear of birds?” he shot back only to be met with an unimpressed stare. Anduin looked away. “At least I’ve a good reason for my fear.”

“I don’t have a ‘fear’ of birds.” The older man sounded more exhausted-like an adult who’d had to explain the same thing to the same child far too many times-than annoyed. “I simply find them to be loathsome and disgusting creatures.”

The expectant look Nathanos fixed him in, then, made it plain he was expected to divulge his own reasoning. “The Brood mother of the Black Dragonflight attempted to drop me to my death when I was ten. If Broll Bearmantle, a friend of my father’s, hadn’t caught me…. well, we wouldn’t be having this conversation now.”

“And the overgrown lizard is also the reason you never take off those gloves?” Nathanos raised an eyebrow when Anduin recoiled, face paling. “You shouldn’t fiddle with those damnable things while you talk about your ‘kidnapping’ if you don’t want the observant to draw the simple connection between cause and effect.” He said. “Well?”

“I-I…they’re only scars, ‘Than. I’m just not comfortable letting people see them.”

“I’m covered in scars, Wrynn. You don’t see me acting like they’re shameful.” Nathanos growled. “If there’s one thing that Human and Orcish culture has in common it’s the notion of battle scars being a point of pride.”

“A point of pride?” Anduin drew his hands to his chest protectively. Shielding them behind his knees. “Maybe when you don’t give them to yourself.”

“Self-harm?” he sounded almost surprised. “I hadn’t thought you the type to put a blade to your skin. And you chose a rather strange place to do so. Wrists I’ve heard of, but not hands.”

“Not a blade, I…I don’t do it anymore. Haven’t since I was 14.”

“Take them off.”

“No!”

“Wrynn, let me see!”

“I already told you, I’m not comfortable!”

“Anduin-!”

“ _Gold_!” Anduin had withdrawn from him completely and now sat huddled on the opposite side of the crow’s nest, watching him with resentful eyes. Taken off guard by how adamant the little blonde was about hiding what he viewed to be a shameful disfigurement it took Nathanos a moment to properly process the fact that he’d invoked a safe word.

Dropping the hand which had been half extended towards him he turned and gripped the lip of the crow’s nest. Preparing to swing himself over and back onto the rigging.

“Where are you going?” the brittle voice stopped him in his tracks. Anduin peered at him over the top of his knees.

“You called a stop, Wrynn.”

“I didn’t tell you to leave.” He said. “I thought you were going to show me the stars.” Anduin tilted his head up to peer into the open heavens above them, a look of childish wonderment spreading across his face. “I haven’t seen this many stars since Pandaria.”

Nathanos released his grip on the platform and turned back towards him, half reluctant. “Do you know how to navigate by them?” the blank look he got in answer spoke volumes. The Dark Ranger Lord shook his head. “Bloody useless on the open ocean then, aren’t you?”

Anduin offered a half-hearted shrug, making a failed effort to smile. “I guess.”

Nathanos grunted and propped himself against the edge of the nest opposite the King, heedless of the precarious nature of his perch. “You only really need to know how to establish your bearings. And unlike on solid ground,” he motioned around them at the empty darkness, the water which stretched on into apparent eternity to all sides, “no landmarks. Any guess how you’d manage?”

Anduin blinked. “A compass?”

“And if you didn’t have one?”

“…Pick a direction and hope for the best?”

“Imbecile.” Nathanos snapped. “Look up. That star there. Do you know what it is?”

Anduin tilted his head back further. “The one just to the left of the White Lady?”

“That’s the Blue Child you doorknob!” The smirk on the young King’s face made it clear he was aware. “I speak of Thuban.”

“The North Sta-oh.”

“Yes. Oh. Did you think ‘North Star’ was just a title given out at random?” Nathanos said. “Though it’s not quite due North it’s near it. Near enough to get a man to where he’s going, whether at sea or in a forest. As long as he knows the direction in which he’s supposed to be heading.”

“Did you navigate that way a lot? Back when…you were alive?”

“The Farstriders had no need of compasses.” That would have to be answer enough.

“When I was young, back when my father was missing, Bolvar would tell me stories about the stars. He’d always say that they were the Kings of the past and that they were looking down on us all.” Anduin sighed and bowed his head. “Sometimes I like to tell myself that he was right.”

He expected Nathanos would deride the notion, but he didn’t. Simply shifted his weight with the soft clink of chainmail. “The constellations here aren’t quite the same. They aren’t in Stormwind either.”

Anduin knew the feeling of being met with the sight of an unfamiliar sky, though its sharpness was dulled by the passing of the years it had been since he’d found himself stranded on Pandaria. Fascinating as he’d found the glowing geometric patterns that he’d never seen before-The Songbird Queen, Liu Lan, the Silver Mantid-there’d been something melancholic and disconcerting about it as well. Nathanos had lost his life in a failed attempt to protect his family from the Scourge; had lost the Kingdom that he’d loved to the betrayal of his own Prince; at least while in the Undercity and on the ruined property which had once been the Marris Stead when he’d looked up the sky had still been as he’d remembered.

Not in Stormwind. Not here. Some constellations likely overlapped, but at least a few were different.

“Did you have a favorite constellation?” he asked. “As a child?”

For a long time Nathanos was quiet, then he sighed. “The Houndsman.”

Anduin made a poor attempt to hide the smile he couldn’t keep off his face behind his hand. “Oh, but of course.” He said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen that one.”

“You wouldn’t have, unless you looked up during your march on the Ruins of Lordaeron.” He said. “It’s a northern constellation only visible between the Howling Fjord and Arathi.”

“My favorite,” Anduin offered upon realizing nothing more was going to be said on the matter, “would probably have to be…oh, Light, this is embarrassing. My favorite constellation as a child was Leo Minor.”

“The Little Lion’s favorite constellation was-.”

“The Little Lion, yes!” Anduin crossed his arms. “I like Eurides, the Southern Dragon, better now.”

Over the sighing waves and creaking gang planks, Anduin heard the low rumbling sound he now knew full well was Nathanos’ laugh.  The silence that they lapsed into, then, was an amicable one. The young King was content to simply enjoy the company of the older man and liked to at least tell himself that Nathanos, perhaps, was enjoying his company as well. The wheel of the heaven’s spun above them. Anduin’s breath rose in silver clouds above his head, goosebumps flushing his skin, and after a time his eyes began growing heavy.

Sensing his mounting exhaustion, the Dark Ranger Lord coaxed him up from his huddled position and back down the heavy rigging. Curled beneath the heavy sheets of the sumptuous bed within the _Tiffin’s Melody_ ’s cabin, Anduin quickly fell asleep.

When he woke the next morning, it was to a large breakfast with Jaina and a restless Nathanos, agitated by something neither of them could sense themselves. When questioned on it all the Dark Ranger did was hiss. He gave the matter up for lost as the hulking ship dropped anchor off the shore of a mountainous region of Kul Tiras which Anduin had yet to see, the dark stone largely grown over by twisted trees baring vibrantly crimson leaves. Piling into a little row boat, they left the _Tiffen’s Melody_ bound for Falconhurst.

The little town was still scarred by the remnants of fires and what looked to have been some manner of Siege. Portions of barricades were still scattered about the area.

“I take it that the ‘Heartsbane’ madness has died down.” The tone which Nathanos spoke with clearly said ‘you better not have allowed him into the potential path of danger’.

“I wouldn’t take the High King of the Alliance into the line of fire, Blightcaller, even if he wasn’t my nephew!” She snapped. “Now cover your face! Drustvar’s people are superstitious and the last we need is for your eyes to send them into a panic.”

“Oh, what? The former Arch Mage can’t work a bit of magic to make me look alive?”

“If you don’t mind your tongue, ‘Dark Ranger Lord’, the ‘former Arch Mage’ might polymorph you into a Murloc.” She snipped. “Permanently!”

“Don’t fight!” Anduin scolded both of them. “You’re drawing stares.”

Jaina hissed a sigh through her nose but said nothing. Nathanos, muttering mutinously in Gutterspeak, pulled the deep cowl of his cloak up over his head.

Not more than a moment later a shouted greeting reached their ears; the royal party turned and caught sight of another group nearing them on horseback headed by a young woman with black hair. Nathanos puffed up like an agitated carpet viper and Anduin, trying and only mostly succeeding at being subtle, bumped his shoulder against the other man’s.

“Lucille.” Jaina greeted, smiling. “It’s good to see you again.”

“You as well, Lord Admiral.” She said, then nodding in Anduin’s direction. “King Wrynn.”

“Please,” he said, “call me Anduin.”

“Anduin.” She said. “The Order of Embers welcomes you to Drustvar. Our lands, at current, are still in a bit of a state I’m afraid but none the less you should still find your stay enjoyable.”

“I’m certain that I will; there’s little in the world I enjoy more than meeting new people and seeing new places.” Anduin said. “And Nathanos, here, has been teaching me the proper method of shooting. I’m happy for the chance to take an exam to show my progress.”

“You had one lesson, Wrynn.”

“And you were a distracting menace.”

“Mind your tongue, boy. Master knows best.”

“Oh, indeed. Who am I to question the only Human ever-ouch! Did you just pinch me?”

“I’ll do far more than pinch if you don’t stuff it!”

“Boys, behave!”

Nathanos’ back went ram rod straight and he turned his head to glare at her. “I. Am older. Than you are.”

“Then act like it!” She snapped.

He sneered but folded his powerful arms and went silent.

“I apologize, Lady Waycrest.” Anduin said. “Nathanos can be a bit snarly.” The baleful glare he received was easily ignored. “Once he settles down, he’s pleasant company. If he likes you.”

“How would _you_ know how I treat the people that I like?”

Anduin rolled his eyes. “He also enjoys pretending he hates everyone and is constantly surrounded by idiots.”

Though he couldn’t quite be certain the young King thought he heard the other man mutter ‘pretend?’

“Please, Anduin,” Lucille said, “if I’m using your first name than please use mine.”

“Lucille.” He smiled back at her.

“Drustvar’s known for a number of things throughout Kul Tiras-our ore rich mines, our sturdy people and, to some degree, our superstitions-and though recent events have made the area a bit more dangerous than it would be otherwise the hunting here is still the best that can be found on the island.” She said. “We’ve brought horses for each of you, and Inquisitors Mace and Notley will be accompanying us for protection. With the Coven broken, the Crimson Forest is safe enough to spend a day hunting and a night camping.”

“I brought my own defense as well; though, admittedly, I doubt Nathanos would allow me to leave him behind even were I to make the effort.” Anduin said.

Lucille turned her head towards the older man, gazing at him curiously. Nathanos glared back through the darkness of his cowl. “Your guardian?”

“Of a sort.” He replied with a small smile.

“Don’t confuse my motives with such maladroit and sentimental things, girl.” The Dark Ranger hissed. “My survival is, at current, bound to this idiot staying alive and in one piece. Thereby, I have every intention of doing all in my power to keep him that way. If you want something done right, as the saying goes, you do it yourself.”

Lucille’s smile had taken on an uncomfortable tint. “And you are?”

“Not your concern.”

“Don’t let him frighten you,” Anduin said, “he’s prickly around new people.”

Nathanos growled at him, the sound ferocious enough to make the two Inquisitors which Lucille had brought with her shift in discomfort, the woman’s hand twitching towards her blade, but all Anduin did was lightly shove him in the arm.

Red eyes bore holes into the Falcon perched on Notley’s shoulder.

“Should we be heading out, then?” Anduin asked brightly.

“Oh yes, of course.” Lucille said, turning to lead them back towards where they’d left the horses they’d rode in on, tied against a fallen tree.

As they passed, Nathanos hissed “keep that _beast_ well away from me!”

Lucille’s mount was a beautiful painted mare whom whinnied in greeting as they approached, a sound echoed by the chestnut and grey horses which were in short order revealed to be the mounts of the other two Inquisitors. The remaining horses were a silver dapple which snorted at Anduin and demanded attention, a white stallion too busy eating grass to pay them any mind and a roan mare which eyed Nathanos warily.

Living horses, he’d said, were frightened of the Forsaken. Barring Champion, who now that Anduin thought about it they probably should have been brought with them, a mount which wasn’t itself undead wouldn’t willingly take Nathanos. Something told him that explaining why the mare was about to go ballistic to their company while in the midst of a town supposedly filled with superstitious people wouldn’t be a pleasant experience.

“Your pick, Proudmoore, since it’s obvious Wrynn has his eye on the silver one.” Nathanos grunted, reaching into the bag at his belt. “Leave the last here or relegate it to carrying supplies.”

“And what will you do?” Jaina asked. “Walk?”

“My hounds are bred for more than hunting.” Producing what looked to Anduin like a dog biscuit, Nathanos offered it to Boots. The little Plaguehound wagged her tail and obediently took the treat in her mouth. The next thing any of them knew, the formerly small hound was standing at about the same height as the horses.

Oblivious to their surprise, Boots let out a resonant sneeze.

“…Does she need a saddle?” Anduin asked, reaching out to scratch behind her ears only to have the Plaguehound take the offered chance to lick him in the face.

“I didn’t have a saddle for her when I went to clean up SI:7’s mess.” Catching a firm hold of the ruff running down Boot’s back, Nathanos swung himself up onto her back. “Pup or not, she knows better than to throw me.”

“Why do you have Bloodwing if you can just ride Boots everywhere?”

“Because of the rare occasion I require a set of wings, though Light knows that useless beast isn’t willing to do its only job half the time.” Nathanos growled. “Now, let’s be on our way. The hunt won’t simply sit idle for us.”

“Let’s all mount up, then.” Lucille did an admirable job of attempting to remain chipper despite Nathanos’ frigid demeanor. Anduin couldn’t help but smile and, upon noticing, the Dark Ranger Lord seemed to chill even further. “It should only take the lesser part of an hour to get to the hunting grounds.”

Leaving Falconhurst behind, the little party found themselves immediately in the midst of the Crimson Forest. Anduin was afforded a much closer look at the black and red trees, a fact of which he took full advantage. Though Nathanos kept on the outside of their group, a glaring eye kept at all times on Inquisitor Notley-or, more accurately, Inquisitor Notley’s pet falcon-Anduin was always aware of his presence. Looming, dark and protective, just behind him.

It wasn’t until nearing late afternoon that they located a trail; hoofprints in the loamy soil which the King happily identified as a deer. The Dark Ranger Lord didn’t comment on the matter, but the noise that he made in response made it plain that his observation was far from impressive. Anduin’s grin was lopsided as they started down the trail the animal had worn into the ground and it wasn’t more than an hour later that they had the beast in their sights.

“Your shot, King Anduin.”

Anduin turned his head to his companion only to find red eyes lingering on him already; he held up his bow and waited.

“Passable.” The way his fingers clenched made it clear the Blightcaller was suppressing, narrowly, the urge to touch him. Toy with him the way that he had up at the cabin which he’d often visited years ago with his father. Their cabin, now. “Let’s see your aim.”

Anduin set his sights back on the deer and fired. The arrow a pale flash in the gloom which met its target with an audible thud. Their quarry immediately taking off at full speed into the brush.

“Good.” Nathanos urged Boots forward, the Plaguehound’s paws breaking through the coiled undergrowth with ease. “It won’t make it far.”

And it didn’t. A spotty blood trail lead to where the deer had fallen; with the body of the arrow jutting from between its shoulder blades, the dying animal lay gasping on the forest floor.

“It’s still alive.” Anduin sounded horrified, a tinted of guilt coming through in his features.

“Not for long.” Nathanos grunted, dismounting and starting towards the beast.

“What are you doing?”

“Putting it out of its misery.” The Dark Ranger Lord planted one foot firmly on the deer’s neck, grabbed its antlers and, before anyone could attempt to stop him, tugged. The echoing crack made Anduin jump. “New lesson, Wrynn, seeing as you’ve expressed desire for this to be an ‘exam’.” Nathanos dropped the deer’s head with an almost mechanical air, drew the dagger from his belt and motioned him over. “Come here.”

Anduin hesitated, then dismounted and walked over. Watching Nathanos seize the deer by one of its back legs and pulled it up. “Ever cleaned a carcass before on one of your ‘noble hunts’ or was such a task reserved for servants?” he didn’t give Anduin time to respond and simply indicated the deer with the point of the knife. “Gutting a kill is the most important step, as far as immediacy goes. So, if you’re about to suggest that we wait and drag this animal back to whatever camp these ‘Inquisitors’ intend to erect save your breath.”

Crouched beside the animal Nathanos used the dagger in his hand to gouge a small hole in the ground.

“Above anything else, make certain that you bury the entrails. Especially if you’re planning to fully dress the kill where it fell.” The blade flashed, white fur tinting red as a tide of blood spilled across the fallen leaves. Followed by a tangle of flesh meant to remain inside. Nauseated by the sudden scent of iron, Anduin covered his mouth and nose with a gloved hand. “Don’t tell me you, a _healer_ , has a problem with blood.”

“I don’t have a problem with blood, Nathanos,” Anduin’s voice was muffled behind fine leather, “it’s just not every day I witness a casual evisceration.”

“Oh? And here I thought you actually fought at Lordaeron.” Dragging the last of the entrails free of the body cavity of the deer, a mass of dark flesh which Anduin suspected to be the liver, and dropping it into the hole with a wet splat, he sat back on his haunches. “Now it seems what you really did was sit behind your men until the opportunity came to barge into the throne room.”

“Why would you say that?” Anduin asked, swiftly covering the hole with dirt if only to conceal the steaming pile of flesh inside it.

“Because in all the wars I’ve served in I’ve seen far worse than this.” Nathanos returned the knife to its sheath. “And I served most often on the outskirts, as an offering of cover fire.” Raising his voice and turning to the rest of their party, he barked “we’ve a use for that last horse, now. Which of the lot of you wants to make themselves useful?”

Briefly, Anduin rested a hand on the larger man’s arm and said “’Than” with a reprimand in his tone, doing his best to ignore the vibrant scarlet smearing the jointed metal of his taloned gloves. Nathanos didn’t respond but he also didn’t pull away.

“No need to expend the energy trussing it to one of the horses.” Lucille said. “We’ll make camp by the road; it’s not more than a hundred yards away. We’ll simply drag it there.”

Notley moved to take the deer by the front legs, Mace to take the back, and together the pair lifted the animal enough to be able to move it. Whistling to Boots, Nathanos started after. Pulling himself back into the saddle, Anduin-followed by Jaina and Lucille-headed in the same direction.

Nathanos didn’t remain in their makeshift camp for even long enough to see it begin to be built, though the fact that he left Boots behind assuaged any concerns about his return which Anduin might have had. With the fire wood collected by the two Inquisitors the young King assisted Lucille in building a fire, exchanging stories of Drustvar and Elwynn as it began to grow dark.

It wasn’t until sunlight had completely faded and the air had filled with smoke, sparks and the smell of roasting meat that Nathanos returned. Claiming a stone just on the outskirts of the fire’s light and crossing his arms. Greeting an offer of a portion of venison from their hosts with a cold look.

“I don’t waste my time with such things, so I suggest you not waste your breath.”

“Eat?” Notley sounded honestly confused as he fed a strip of meat to the bird on his shoulder. “Don’t you need to eat to live?”

It was meant as a rhetorical question, but seeing Nathanos preparing to answer Anduin was swift to head him off at the pass “it’s complicated.”

The Dark Ranger Lord growled and sat back on his rock but said nothing. Anduin accepted his own portion and happily tucked into it, well aware that Nathanos’ gaze had yet again found him though to the others he appeared to simply be staring into the fire. Hiding a smirk behind his hand Anduin made a delicate point of thoroughly licking the juices from his fingers; the spices tainted slightly by the taste of leather.

Nathanos shifted on his rock, fingers twitching as they curled into fists. Smirk widening, Anduin set his finished plate aside and slipped one finger into his mouth. Then two. Thoroughly sucking them clean.

“If it’s really that good, Anduin,” Lucille sounded amused, “you’re welcome to more.”

The young King turned bright red and politely declined, desperately trying to ignore the low rumble of the Dark Ranger’s laughter.

The embarrassment, he couldn’t help but think as he turned the topic of conversation to the first thing at random that popped into his head, was worth it. The night drew on, the fire fell lower, the stars moved overhead and soon Anduin found himself shivering. Breath rising above him as he shifted, again, towards the fire in a vain effort to warm himself.

The soft clink of mail drew his attention to his right, just in time to see Nathanos crouch beside him. Before he could ask what the older man was doing, the Dark Ranger had unpinned his cloak and pulled it from his shoulders. Wrapping it around Anduin’s instead. Taloned fingers carefully relatching the clasp at his throat.

“I told you it was cold here. That you should dress warmer. You insisted you’d be fine. Now look at you!” Nathanos grabbed the sides of his cloak and pulled them tighter around the young King, clearly intending for him to take over holding them. After a moment’s confusion and with a muttered apology Anduin did as was expected. “Going to freeze to death, you damned fool!”

“I’m not going to freeze to death.” Anduin rolled his eyes. “But, regardless, I’m grateful for your concern.”

Nathanos scoffed and turned away, pulling himself back to his full height. His attention immediately drawn to the sudden movement of their companions who’d jerked in alarm at the sight of his eyes.

“Oh, do be still! If only due to not wishing to waste the necessary effort I’m no threat to you. At current.”

“Nathanos, please.” Anduin said.

Nathanos ignored him. “I’ll take watch.”

“First watch?” Jaina sounded exasperated.

“Watch.” He repeated, resolute. “I don’t need sleep either, Proudmoore. I’m the best option and there’s no point in shifts where not necessary.”

“He’s right.” Though she still seemed nervous over the revelation that Nathanos wasn’t quite as Human as they’d believed, Lucille appeared to realize that the older man was fully prepared to argue everyone around them under the ground, and indeed that he intended to, and acted to circumvent that occurrence. “If one among our party doesn’t require rest due to a…condition that they suffer from than we’d best make use of that fact.” Turning her attention to Anduin, she said “the choice of tent is yours, your Majesty.”

Anduin thanked her with a smile, bid the others goodnight and made his way over to the nearest tent. Crawling in through the open flap and pulling it closed behind him. Flopping down onto the thin cot rolled out on the ground and wrapping himself tighter in the cloak that he’d been lent. Falling asleep surrounded by the Dark Ranger’s heady scent.

An indeterminate amount of time later, Anduin jerked awake to the sensation of another weight on the cot beside him. A dark figure picking its way over and around him, red eyes glowing in the gloom.

“’Than!” He sounded as bleary as he felt, his efforts to push himself onto all fours thwarted by Nathanos’ larger body hanging just above him. “You’re supposed to be on watch!”

The older man rumbled at him, languidly lifting a hand and running it up under his shirt. Along his side. Cold fingers roving greedily over the bare skin they found there, as if fascinated by it. “Oh, yes. Watch.” He dropped his head to Anduin’s shoulder, cold tongue and wiry beard brushing against his neck. The young King’s breath caught in his throat. “You don’t think me capable, Wrynn, of being well aware of my surroundings regardless of what I’m doing? Or whom.”

Anduin felt his body beginning to heat up. “Oh, you’re going to d-do me are you?” it came out as more of a whimper than he wanted.

Nathanos hummed, the roving hand slipping lower. Sliding over the soft skin of his belly. Tracing the lip of his pants but not dipping beneath it. His red eyes alight with a possessive fervor. “Thoroughly.”

The Dark Ranger resumed the careful process of sucking on his neck and Anduin was left struggling to maintain a coherent line of thought. “They’ll hear us!”

“Hear us?” Nathanos grinned, producing something from within the confines of his armor. Squinting through the dark, Anduin could make out that whatever it was made of leather. “This gag ought to be more than affective enough to keep you quiet while we try something a little bit different.”

“Oh?” Anduin allowed the bridle-like object to be slipped over his head but didn’t immediately take the gag into his mouth when the leather ball was pressed against his lips. “And what would that be?”

Wrapping his arms around him Nathanos spun to the side, pulling the little blonde over on top of him so that he was resting on his chest. Red eyes were peering up at him, now, but the grin on his face hadn’t faltered. “Tonight won’t be quite so easy for you, Little Lion. Words?”

“Blue and gold.” Anduin began working at the complicated latchings of the Dark Ranger’s armor with his fingers, reveling in the sensation of those large calloused hands against his skin. “But I don’t see myself finding an opportunity to use them with this in my mouth.”

Nathanos paused briefly to consider this. “We’ll consider gestures, then.”

“No need.” Succeeding at last in freeing Nathanos from his breast plate, Anduin moved on to the segmented belt which stood between him and the latch of his leg plates. “Gag aside, I’m not unfamiliar with riding. ‘Bare back’ or not. And I’m sure you’ll be gentle?”

“Gentle?” Seizing handfuls of his ass, Nathanos dragged Anduin flush against him. Snarling a ragged “you wish” into his jaw. Taking mercy enough on the young King’s efforts to push his leg plates down himself once Anduin had succeeded in freeing the latch. Hooking his own fingers in the smaller male’s belt loops and ripping down the last piece of fabric standing in his way. “Too many damned clothes!”

Whatever reply Anduin might have had was muffled unintelligible by the ball gag in his mouth. Hardly a concern to either of them, really, as one thick oiled finger had begun working its way into his entrance. His other hand supporting his weaker leg, leaving Anduin to balance rather precariously on his good leg and the hands he’d planted on the Dark Ranger’s chest. Head tilting back, offering the larger man unfettered access to his throat. A fact which Nathanos took full advantage of. Riddling him with marks which Anduin’ knew he’d have to heal come morning but which, at the moment, he didn’t care about. Whimpers and whines muffled behind the ball of leather wedged between his teeth as he was lifted, then lowered onto the larger man.

Anduin’s eyes rolled back into his head, jaw going slack and head lolling back yet further. Whether it was the angle or something else the young King didn’t know, but he felt as if Nathanos had gone deeper than before. The drag of silken flesh and the sharp press of nibbling teeth leaving him on fire with sensation. His hips jerking forward before he could stop them but the expected reprimand for moving out of turn didn’t come. Nor did Nathanos move. He simply remained still and continued nipping and licking at the column of his throat.

Half in protest and half in plea, the blonde grunted around the gag in his mouth well aware a trickle of drool was beginning to path from the corner of his mouth.

Nathanos hummed, pulling away just far enough to peer up at him with cruel mischief in his sanguine eyes. “Did you need something?” Anduin huffed again and jerked his hips forward once more. A question and a demand at once in the motion. “Oh, were you expecting me to move? Come now, Anduin. You can do a bit of work now and again, high born or not!”

Anduin grumbled but acquiesced, rolling his hips forwards again. Moaning softly around the leather in his mouth. Nathanos’ fingers curling around his hips, supporting him but doing nothing else.

“There’s a good boy.” His voice was a low and deadly croon. “But surely that’s not the best that you can do?”

Anduin stopped and looked down at him, glaring. Nathanos appeared wholly unimpressed, cold fingers kneading into the pale flesh of his hips.

“I can sit here all night, Anduin. But I think you’d prefer it that we weren’t caught in this position.” One hand remained on his hips. The other began a slow, steady ascent up his spine. Goosebumps rising in his touch’s wake. “Were I you, I’d get moving.”

Anduin’s blue eyes, deepened by arousal to a satiny midnight, narrowed and he jerked his hips forward with all the force that he could muster. Drawing a huff from both of them.

“Cheeky little! Watch yourself.”

But the young King ignored him. Propping his hands against Nathanos’ hard chest as best he could and setting a rhythm. The Dark Ranger Lord eventually taking enough pity on him to take his hands in his own, allowing him a much better point of leverage to push himself faster and faster against. The boiling heat of his blood mounting until he felt for certain his body would turn to ash around him. His vision flashing black as he collapsed, at last, against the larger man. Riding out the vibrancy of pleasure and letting the chill of the other’s flesh seep into his burning skin, feeling content and sticky.

Nathanos tolerated this for almost an entire minute before moving to free himself, but Anduin stopped him. “Wait.” Lifting himself carefully off the Dark Ranger’s lap, wincing at the pinching sensation between his legs when he tried to move too quickly, the little blonde quickly reached into his bag and pulled out a soft cloth. “Let me.”

All he received in reply was a grunt which he chose to interpret as permission and he reached out with the cloth to wipe the evidence of their activities away from the cold blued skin of his stomach before bending down and pressing a kiss to his naval. Sitting back on his haunches and looking up at him with bright eyes.

“I suppose that it would be a waste of breath to ask you to stay?” he sighed.

Nathanos picked up his shirt, beginning the process of righting his armor. “I’ve watch.”

The little blonde couldn’t entirely contain his snort. “Right. Watch.”

Another grunt. The Dark Ranger Lord went about the process of redressing with an efficiency which could only be described as militant, collecting the cloak he’d lent Anduin earlier and moving to exit the tent only to pause at the opening and look back. Red eyes regarding him oddly.

“Is…something wrong?”

Nathanos didn’t answer, but reached out to pull him closer. Briefly, so briefly that he couldn’t be certain it had really happened at all, cold lips brushed his forehead. A moment later Anduin found himself alone, blinking into the dark, as the tent flap fluttered before him.


	23. A Feasting Place of Light

“Thank you again, Aunt Jaina. This state visit was truly incredible.” After a brief breakfast of fresh berries and left-over venison, they’d parted ways with the Order of Embers upon returning to Falconhurst and taken a portal back to Boralus. They now stood in the portal room, the arcane gateway to Stormwind hovering just feet away. “It was certainly a nice break from paper work and noble’s meetings.”

Nathanos grunted, watching Boots-returned to her normal size-nose at a nearby stack of books as he leaned against a pillar.

“You’re more than welcome, Anduin.” Jaina told him with a smile. “The crew of the _Tiffen’s Melody_ should arrive in Stormwind’s harbor within the next few days. And if you ever need anything from Kul Tiras you need only ask.”

“The Alliance thanks you, Lord Admiral.” A small smile tugged at his lips as he spoke; after exchanging a brief hug Anduin turned to his dour companion. “Ready to go?”

The Dark Ranger’s answer was a sharp whistle to call over the little hound before he stepped through the portal.

Jaina sighed. “I suppose something will never change.”

“I suppose.” Anduin agreed. “Though that won’t keep me from holding out hope.”

“Be safe.”

The young King nodded. “I’ll do my best.” With a last nod in farewell Anduin turned and stepped through the portal himself.

Stormwind’s Mage Tower was as busy as ever, apprentices hustling back and forth and floating books whizzing through the air in all directions. Arcane golems and bound water elementals monitoring for any potential intruders, Horde or otherwise, who might have attempted to use one of the portals located in neutral locations to gain access to the heart of the Alliance. Animated brooms industriously sweeping away at the stone floor, keeping everything dutifully free of dust. He hadn’t fully expected Nathanos to have waited for him yet there he stood, clearly impatient but waiting none the less.

“I’ve a flock of idiots to tend to.” He said without prompting once Anduin had appeared out of the portal. “You’re returning to the Keep?”

“Not right this minute.”  He said. “There’s an order I have to put in.”

A disinterested grunt. “Boots will mind you. Straight to the Keep once you’re done, unless that Elf of yours, at least, is with you.”

The Priest rolled his eyes but didn’t protest. “I’ve paperwork to do anyway so I wouldn’t have been far from my study either way.” He said. “I suppose I’ll see you when you return?”

“By evening, unless another matter arises which demands my attention.” He said. “I never can quite be certain when one of your dullard subordinates will deem it necessary to waste my time.”

“I hope to be done with work for the day come dinner,” Anduin said. “If you arrive after that time, I may be in my chamber’s themselves rather than the attached study. Feel free to join me.”

With another grunt of acknowledgement, the older man spun on his heel and walked away, leaving Anduin alone with the little green hound who looked up at him and wagged her tail.

“Well, no point wasting time is there girl?” Anduin stooped down and picked her up, propping the little puppy under one arm. “Let’s get going.”

Boots barked and wagged her tail harder. Smiling and shifting her weight in his grip the young King started out of the Mage Tower at a brusque pace. Headed towards his destination in the Cathedral District.

The early morning sunlight still appeared newly minted as it filtered down through the scattering of clouds which hung overhead, illuminating the white stones and multicolored roofs of his city. The distant rushing of the ocean reached him on the wind which blew in from the direction of the harbor, less harshly tinted with brine than the wind in Kul Tiras had been.

“Kul Tiras was beautiful,” Anduin told her as he walked, scratching gently behind her ears, “and I’m always up for exploration, seeing new places, but nothing ever compared to being home.”

Boots looked up at him and whined.

“I know. And I think that’s the thing which saddens me most about the outcome of the Siege. Had she simply fled with her people returning to the Undercity might one day have been possible. Yet she destroyed it out of spite instead and robbed them all of a home.” He shook his head. “You’re Master has already lost so much. It isn’t fair. And taking more from him, demanding even more…it’s no way to return his loyalty.”

Boots huffed.

“You both know, I hope, that you’re more than welcome here. For as long as I am King. For as long as you’ve a need or want to stay.” Anduin shifted the puppy again. “In fact, I hope you do stay. Both of you. But especially you’re Master. I’m aware, of course, that you can’t _make_ someone fall in love with you if they’re not so inclined but that doesn’t mean I’ll stop trying. Or stop praying. Either way, I won’t treat him differently.”

The Plague hound shoved her cold nose into his neck. Anduin laughed and gently pushed her away. “Alright, alright. I’ll stop talking. Light.”

When Boots snorted again, she sounded amused. Turning the corner at last, Anduin scanned the cobbled street and finally found the storefront he was looking for. Resuming walking a moment later after setting the puppy down.

The Masonry was a small one, located in the shadow of the Cathedral of Holy Light just to the right of the graveyard. Motes of dust swirled in the shafts of golden sunlight which spilled in through the windows and onto the floor; wooden slats dried and sun-bleached. The air was warm and smelled strongly of wet stone. A half-completed marker rested on the nearby table, shaped and polished but not yet baring any signs of lettering. With Boots pressed to his ankles, looking warily around, Anduin reached out and lightly ran his fingertips over the gleaming stone.

“King Anduin.” The mason stepped out from the back room, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a beaten chisel in one hand. An older man with a smile lined face, he’d made both the cenotaph for his mother and the memorial at Lion’s Rest. “It’s not often that I find myself with the pleasure of a royal visit. What can I do for you?”

“I’d like to have a headstone made.” He said. “Something small enough that it can be carried on the back of a griffin, but respectable. Something any family would be proud to see at the resting place of a loved one.”

The man’s smile was worn but warm. “That description could be attached to any of my stones, your Majesty.”

“Which is exactly why I came to you.”

“Kind of you to say.” He said. “I keep the stone selections in the back. Follow me.”

Boots whined and hung back, ignoring Anduin’s best efforts to coax her forward. Finally giving up with a sigh and bidding her wait for him Anduin followed the mason into the backroom. Slabs of stone in a variety of colors were scattered throughout the room, ranging from marble to granite and everything in between.

“I’d suggest a granite piece, King Anduin, if you’re looking for a more traditional marker rather than something sculpted. Or marble, perhaps.”

The young King stepped up to the indicated selection. Blue eyes scanning the selection of multicolored stone; rose and black and white and beige before coming to a traditional, simple grey.

“I think he’d appreciate this one the most.” He said. “Nathanos doesn’t strike me as the type to appreciate overly flashy things.”

The mason raised an eyebrow. “Planning on burying your most recent guardian?”

“Light, no! I didn’t consider what that might sound like.” Anduin said. “It’s not for him. But rather…his cousin was murdered by the Banshee Queen and he never got the chance to bury him. There wasn’t even really a body left behind the bury. …He raised him.”

“And you think having a place to go would help him move on. That he’s carrying some sort of guilt or pain or both over what happened.”

“I know he is.”

The older man nodded. “A noble effort, your Highness.” He said. “Such a small stone for such an important cause? I can have it done by tomorrow morning. I simply need a name.”

“Stephon Marris.” Anduin said. “Thank you.”

“Of course, King Anduin.” The Mason told him. “The stone will be ready for you tomorrow morning.”

Biding the man a polite farewell Anduin turned and exited the back room of the masonry collecting Boots from where he’d left her and stepping back out into the light.

 

_Long strands of gilded hair escaping from the ribbon meant to hold them back in a formerly neat pony tail now hung wildly about his face, angular well shaped and set into an expression of carnal ecstasy. Lust darkened eyes wide in the dark, tinted the hue of midnight water. Petal lips stretched wide around the ball gag in his mouth, a silvery trickle of drool carving its way down his jaw line and the alabaster curve of his neck. A faint sheen of sweat like starlight covering his pale skin._

_The sight alone was enough to drive him made, never mind the sounds that he was making: nothing of the sort that ought to have been coming from the mouth of a Priest of the Light, possessed of a Shadow side or not. The desire to rip into him, feed that terrible hunger nested where his head had been like a carrion crow, flared yet again. Accompanied by the overpowering need to squirrel him away somewhere and never let him go. Never let him see the light of day again. Never let the eyes of others on him because he was his. **His**! Maybe, if he buried him deep enough, discovered the right means of keeping him compliant, he could tell Sylvanas that he’d killed him without actually having to do so; could keep his latest…inconvenient obsession on the side and out of the way while still maintaining loyalty to his Queen._

_The risk would be worth it, at least to his lust rattled mind, to have more nights like this. Sheathed to the hilt in the willing body below him. Flooded with sensations, physical and otherwise, he’d thought no longer obtainable to him beneath the yoke of this damnable curse. Were they his own feelings or was he feeding off of Anduin like a leech? Did it matter? Did it matter if it mattered? And what of that foolish, split second decision; that moment of weakness he’d so stupidly acted on just before leaving. Moved by the plea in those blue eyes._

_It didn’t mean anything. It **didn’t**. He had his mission. He’d see it through. The Dark Lady was counting on him and it was imperative he complete the task he’d been assigned. Wrynn, and whatever spell the little siren had managed to weave around him, was temporary. A distraction. A weakness to be bleed out, quite literally, as he watched the life leave his eyes. Once it was all over, when he’d washed his hands of it all and returned to the Dark Lady’s side, everything would go back to normal._

_If he told himself this enough it would ultimately come to pass. Because that was how thing worked, wasn’t it?_

A loud, full throated swear ripped him from his musings. Blinking the haze from his glowing eyes Nathanos looked up from the stump he’d been attempting to stare a hole into. Ciaran was cursing and waving his arms at Nolan, whom was making an effort to feign being sheepish while not entirely able to conceal a smirk, an arrow which had clearly been recently fired embedded in the trunk of a tree behind his fellow student. In the completely opposite direction of the targets they were supposed to be aiming at.

“ _Light_ Buckley! It was bad enough the first damn time when you were shooting yourself in the foot but at least that was in the general direction of the target! Fuck!”

“What is going on here?” Nathanos growled as he stalked towards them.

“Oh nothing, _Sir._ ” The snide edge to his tone left the Dark Ranger sorely tempted to reach out and smack him. “Just Buckley being his typical self!”

“As are you: little more than a mouth of legs which doesn’t know when to keep itself shut!” Nathanos snarled. “Bet _back_ to work, Stonebridge!”

“Yes, Sir.” The younger hunter sneered, turning and marching back to his assigned target.  The Dark Ranger didn’t miss the hissed ‘asshole’ but turned his eyes on Nolan rather than address it, who was now openly smirking.

“You weren’t aiming at the target, Buckley, were you?”

He shook his head. “No, Sir.”

“Were you aiming at the tree or the idiot?”

For the briefest of moments, the smirk became a smile. “Ciaran.” He said. “He moved.”

Nathanos grunted. “Last I saw, you couldn’t even hit a stationary target reliably. If you’re fucking around with moving targets now that better have changed.”

“I’ve been practicing.”

Another grunt. Nathanos pulled down his own bow and, without much mind paid to the target nearest them, fired. The arrow meeting the bull’s eye with a heavy thunk. “Show me.”

Were he to be honest Nathanos would have had to admit that he didn’t expect the younger hunter’s arrow to make it passed the outer rings of the target if he even managed to hit it at all. Much to his surprise, after a draw out moment taken to aim, the arrow Nolan fired split his own.

Nathanos blinked. “Practicing.”

“Every night, sir. For hours. Magic, too.  
 He shifted slightly. “I’ve…another tutor who’s helping me in that regard.”

The Dark Ranger met that statement with a noise of disinterest. “I’d advise you expand to moving targets so that the next time you fire at a classmate you don’t miss.” He said. “Laps. Now.”

“How many, Sir?”

“As many as you can manage before I tell you to stop.” Nathanos barked. Setting down his bow and quiver, Nolan hurried away into the nearby trees. “The rest of you,” he growled, turning back to them, “get back to work! I won’t tolerate slacking!”

The sun hung on the edge of falling from the sky by the time he finally called a stop to the day’s lesson and freed Nolan from his punishment. Ignoring the grumbling of Ciaran, arm’s crossed as he not so subtly complained about him, and Nolan’s efforts to catch his breath Nathanos turned his attention to the presence he sensed approaching at a near distance.

A moment later the Spymaster stepped out of the trees, gaze immediately falling on Nolan and eyebrows quirking upwards.

“I don’t want a word on my methods of disciplining my students, Shaw. Especially considering that I’m going easy compared to past classes.” Nathanos said. “Battle Creepers would have kept his pace at a good clip lest he lose limbs.”

“I wouldn’t trust you with my students, though I’d assumed Benjamin’s hands were tied given the high King’s direct request.” The Rogue said. “He must be thrilled.”

“What do you want?” Noticing his students lingering nearby, attempting to appear as if they weren’t hanging off their every word, he snarled “Scram! The lot of you!”

They scattered, then, like frightened mice and the pair were at last left alone.

“To speak with you.” The Spymaster said. “As colleagues. As that’s what we are, currently, with you under the High King’s Aegis. Join me at the _Golden Keg._ ”

“I don’t drink, Shaw. Not unless it’s Skull Shocker. There’s no point otherwise.”

“Humor me.”

Nathanos glared at him for a drawn-out moment more before letting out a hissing sigh. “Fine. One drink. We get this over with swiftly; I’m not a man fond of having his time wasted.”

“I’m an assassin, Blightcaller. Efficiency is my bread and butter.” He said. “Shall we?”

The Dark Ranger grunted at him in leu of response and reluctantly trudged alongside him back towards the city. Neither man spoke or even so much as looked at each other and the silence between them was far from amicable. Hostility had sublimated between them into an icy fog by the time they reached the Dwarven District and even the warmth and light of the _Golden Keg_ could do nothing to dispel it. Dwarves-small surprise-made up the majority of the patrons of the bar occupying the inn’s lower floor, and what few of them were physically radiating off of him paused in their reveling and went silent as they passed.

Mathias claimed a seat at the bar, Nathanos joining him sourly, and ordered two flagons of whatever stout they happened to have on hand from the bar tender, a stocky Dwarven woman with her red hair worn back in pigtails.

“’Ere ya are, Mathias. Two of the usual.” She said. “Been a while since I’ve last seen ya here, darlin’. And with rather odd company.”

“Yes, well, consider this business, Tenle.” Picking up his own stein and taking a swing he pushed the other into Nathanos’ unwilling hands. “Neither of the two of us really want to be in each other’s company but it’s necessary that we speak. I trust you’ll do the usual?”

“Of course, Spymaster.”

“The Bartender,” Nathanos growled as the Dwarf walked away, “she’s SI:7. One of your agents.”

“Formerly. Before she retired for a calmer work environment.” He took another drink.

Dubiously, the Dark Ranger peered at the small group of angered patrons attempting to use their empty flagons to beat each other upside the head. “Calmer.” Perhaps barely. “What did you want with me, Shaw? I’m expected back at the Keep.”

“The King is safe. You can spare a handful of minutes to indulge me.”

“I’ve no wish to ‘indulge’ curiosity.”

“This isn’t about curiosity.” The Rogue’s tone had taken on a harsher note. Nathanos paused, staring at him. “Having served for as long as you have, in Lordaeron and Quel’thalas as well as among the Forsaken, I’m sure you’re well versed in the rumor mill. What it is. How it functions. How disastrous it can prove to those in positions of power.”

“King Anduin has suffered beneath the shadow of…certain rumors for most of his life.” Mathias said. “And your presence, your constant accompaniment of him, has led to a resurgence of such things.”

“’Such things’?”

“He’s never shown much of an interest in the women around him, noble or otherwise. Perhaps he simply wasn’t concerned with pursuing such things at the time, perhaps he truly is otherwise inclined, but whatever his reasoning the rumor of deviancy quickly came about.”

“Anyone who thinks that Light addled imbecile is a deviant ought to be shot.” Aside from the fact that he seemed to enjoy being tied up and had a particular preference, it seemed, for an undead man nearly twice his age. Passing judgement on that, Nathanos supposed, wasn’t his concern. “What does this have to do with me?”

“You’re rarely seen far apart, and that combined with reports of behavior on both your parts which can only be described as odd has led to the notion that he’s unofficially taken you as unofficial King consort-.”

“Dark Lady’s grace, Shaw! An utterly preposterous notion! My past relationship with the Banshee Queen is common knowledge to even the blockheaded; it ought to be plain with anyone possessed of the slightest bit of sense that I’m not into men!”

“I wouldn’t be one to judge another for homosexuality, Nathanos. As much as I’d rather not be on the wrong side of certain outdated laws, I also don’t fancy myself a hypocrite.” He said. “My only concerns here are the damage improper handling of the truth could do to his reign if there is substance to the rumors you’re unwilling to admit and the fact that you-.”

“That I what? Speak freely or don’t bother!”

Mathias leveled him in a deadly glare. “You’re a venomous snake on whom his affections would be sorely wasted. As someone who himself made the mistake of loving a man who neither deserved nor appreciated the sentiment, I think it fair to say King Anduin has already gone through enough.”

Wasted? Fury reared its head within his chest, molten claws raking down alone his ribs. How dare the bastard say such things, as if he had some right to judge! As if he knew or understood! Damn him! The untouched contents sloshed out onto the bar when Nathanos slammed the stein onto the wood and rose abruptly. “Rather than waste my time with such inane stupidity I’d advise you cut out the wagging tongues within the Royal Guard. _Before_ I do.”

He didn’t give Mathias a chance to respond and stalked from the _Golden Keg._ Taking to the rooftops in an effort to hasten his travel, reaching the Keep just as night settled fully over the city. Scaling the outer wall and pulling himself up onto the outer balcony. Stopping once there to peer into the chamber beyond.

Anduin had finished his evening meal, as clearly evidenced by the dishes neatly stacked on a nearby table and the goblet of wine beside him. The young monarch had stretched himself out on the dark blue couch, stripped of his court clothing in favor of a white button up and dark slacks, feet propped up on the opposite arm from the one he leaned against. His blue eyes focused on the pages of a leather bond book.

Opening the door, Nathanos stepped inside and closed it behind him. Prowling forward towards the distracted Priest. Offense at the notion that he was undeserving of the little blonde a burning star of offense wedged beneath his sternum.

“ _Romulo and Julianne?”_ Anduin started at the sudden sound of his voice from above him. Nathanos took advantage of his surprise to pluck the book from his hands, ignoring the King’s exclamation of surprise. “Come now, Anduin. Surely you’ve better reading material available than this overly dramatic rag?”

“Rag? It’s a classic!” He’d sat up, now, and sounded slightly affronted. Boots shifted in the little bed she’d made out of a discarded pillow. “I may have a mild weakness for romance. Every once in a while. In small literary doses.”

Nathanos scoffed, flipping the book open to a page seemingly at random and smirking at the Priest before devoting his attention to the words. Turning with the dramatic flourish of a trained performer, his cloak rippling behind him, he began to read aloud. “How oft when men are at the point of death have they been merry? Which their keepers call a lightning before death! Oh, how may I call this a lightning?-oh, my love,” red eyes flicked up to meet his, the split second amendment of a line to “my Liege,” turning Anduin’s cheeks a rosy red and prompting a savage grin as Nathanos slowly began to advance across the room. “Death, that hath sucked the honey of thy breath, hath had no power yet upon thy beauty. Thou art not conquered.”

As he reached where Anduin sat, looking on in bemusement, sat the hand not holding the book extended forward. The talons on his gauntlets lightly tracing the bow of his lips. “Beauty’s ensign yet is crimson in thy lips,” before moving left to cup his cheek with a tender, gentle touch which juxtaposed almost harshly with the cold metal, “and in thy cheeks. And death’s pale flag has not advanced there.”

“Nathanos.” Anduin couldn’t contain the laughter in his voice but the Dark Ranger Lord pressed onwards as if he hadn’t spoken. Somehow managing to inject even more dramatics into it all.

“Ah, dear Anduin! Why art thou yet so fair? Shall I believe that insubstantial death is amorous and that the lean abhorred monster keeps thee here in dark to be his paramour? For fear of that I will stay with thee. And never from this palace of dim night depart again. Here,” with the clink of mail he sank down again onto one knee, his tone dropping as well until his voice was almost a whisper, “here will I remain with the worms that are thy chambermaids. Oh, here will I set up my everlasting rest. And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars from this world wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last.”

Closing the book with a snap and setting it aside he continued delivering the lines word for word, leading Anduin to the suspicion that-though he’d doubtlessly deny it-Nathanos was quite familiar with the play in question.

“Arms,” his own wrapped around Anduin’s thin waist and pulled him closer, “take your last embrace. And lips. Oh, you the doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss a dateless bargain to engrossing death. Come, bitter conduct. Come, unsavory guide. Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on the dashing rocks thy seasick, weary bark. Here is to my love.” Reaching back for the goblet of wine which sat on the table Nathanos tilted it towards him as if in toast and then raised it to his lips; though Anduin wasn’t certain the older man truly drank his lips were tinted violet when he set the heavy goblet down again. “Oh, true apothecary, thy drugs are quick. Thus, with a kiss” the young King didn’t have a chance to react before their lips were firmly pressed together, cold tongue coiling with his own in a languid dance which carried with it the sour dryness of the wine. A low purr building in his chest as Anduin weakly braced himself against the Dark Ranger’s shoulders as he toppled onto the couch, Nathanos atop him. It was only slowly that the older man pulled back, crimson eyes regarding him with some unplaceable emotion before he finished with a quiet “I die.”

The silence which followed was heavy with something neither man could place, that Nathanos didn’t really want to, and they simply stared at each other. Anduin’s warm, living breath against his lips. The rise and fall of it pressing their chests together as he lay beneath him. Then, cautiously, the King reached up a hand and laid it on his cheek. The tentative brush of a gloved thumb soon transforming into a more assured caress. The smart response would have been to pull away. To break the moment before whatever the silvery thing was which had formed between them became too close. Too dangerous. But his body reached of its own accord and leaned into his hand. Eyes fluttering closed.

What power was it, exactly, that Wrynn had over him? Nathanos didn’t understand. Couldn’t fathom how it was that such a horrifically soft, disgustingly virtuous fool could hold anything of worth to him, especially as he was now; a rotting husk of what had once been a human, a man with some form of future and something worthwhile to protect now with nothing to look forward to but an eternity of damnation once something strong enough to end his cursed existence came along or he grew tired enough with the blight of it all to throw himself willingly into the maw of that eternal night as his Queen had tried to do once the Lich King had fallen.

Was it because some part of him recognized that Anduin, had he found himself in Sylvanas’ position, would never have been so selfish as to attempt to abandon his people in order to end his own suffering? Or perhaps it was the inexplicable ability of the youth to delude himself into believing the notion that he wasn’t a monster, that he could chose to return to being Nathanos Marris in some semblance more than name merely on a whim and a prayer? Maybe it was the way he had of making him almost believe it? Believe that he could redeem himself somehow. Could be something other than a monster. Could be worthy of being more to such a pure creature than the beast sent to defile and ultimately destroy it. When he held Anduin, all feelings of sentiment and other such trite matters aside, he felt like a man.

Like he could be, one day, what the little King deserved even if he wasn’t now.

The memory of Mathias’ words prodded the embers which still smoldered within him. That familiar rage returning, though it felt even more impotent now, somehow, than when it was aimed at the universe at large for condemning him to such a fate. How dare he think to judge him! How dare he think his judgement mattered! How dare he think himself possessed of the authority to confront him on such matters or accuse him, even if only by insinuation, of making an active effort to put the Priest’s authority in danger.

Something in his expression must have shifted, or perhaps it was the stiffening of his posture, because Anduin broke the silence at last. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing of your concern.” Dismissive but gentle. Nathanos running a hand up along the little blonde’s side. Bowing his head to kill him again, Anduin’s arms coming up to loosely circle his broad shoulders.

“I’d disagree.” If his hope had been to distract the little Priest, he was disappointed. “You’re my concern, ‘Than.”

Nathanos’ hope was that his glare was intimidating but judging by the fact that Anduin didn’t waver he doubted that he succeeded. “A scolding by your Spymaster is all. Shaw attempts to speak on things he doesn’t understand. But it’s of no matter, my Liege.”

“I wouldn’t-.”

“How much do you trust me?

Anduin pulled up short at the sudden change of subject and stared at him for a while before he answered “completely.” He said. “But you know that.”

“Is ‘completely’ enough to subject yourself to my magics?” those red eyes hung above him in the dim light, mischievous and hungry. “Enough to let me take your senses from you one by one-sight, scent, hearing-until you’re left with only touch? At my mercy?”

Sensory deprivation? He’d heard it said that when a sense was lost the body would quickly adjust, that those which remained would be made sharper to compensate, but he’d never considered the possibility of using it in pursuit of pleasure. The concept made his toes curl.

“Would the effects be temporary?” he sounded breathless even to his own ears.

“The moment I release the spells your sense will return. No ill effects had.” Nathanos’ lips brushed against the shell of his ear as he spoke. “I wouldn’t do you permanent harm.”

It disturbed him immensely to realize that he meant it.

“I trust you.”

“Let’s get you out of these clothes, then.” The Dark Ranger Lord allowed the smaller man to sit up, taloned fingers beginning the painstaking process of freeing the pearlescent buttons from their settings. Revealing, inch by inch, Anduin’s pale chest. Pushing the fabric back from his shoulders once it had finally fallen open. “You may assist, Anduin, while I get these gauntlets off.”

“Oh, may I?” the little blonde chuckled, lifting his hips and freeing the button at his waistline to push them down. “I feel so honored by the chance to pull down my own pants.”

Nathanos rolled his eyes and set the gauntlets aside with the clank of mail. “Total sensory deprivation has been known to cause panic, and though I’ve every intention to allow you to retain touch I don’t want to risk it. So, I’ll take them one by one rather than all at once.” He said. “Keep in mind that, though you retain your voice. And your words still retain their power.”

“Blue and gold,” Anduin was quick to say before he could be asked. “I remember them.”

“Good.” He said. “I’ll take scent first, followed by sight and then hearing.”

“And what will you do then?”

That familiar amused rumble. “That’s something you’ll have to find out.” He said. “Shall we proceed?”

“Begin when ready.” Anduin’s arms had wound around his shoulders again, a gentle effort to pull him closer to which Nathanos obliged. Murmuring a spell before pressing his lips to the side of his nose.

“Proceed?”

Anduin blinked, brows drawn together slightly. “It’s…certainly odd but nothing horrific to deal with.” He said. “Proceed.”

Nathanos repeated the same spell, pressing his lips this time to the skin just behind the blonde’s left ear. Instantly, everything went silent. The older man said something which the blonde assumed was another question on whether or not he could proceed, to which he nodded. Again the same spell was spoken and, with the brush of dry lips against his temple, everything went black.

Even knowing it was coming Anduin had to tamp down the instinctual urge to panic at the sudden loss of sight. The attention he was forced to pay the effort of keeping his breathing even led the first gentle touch of Nathanos’ cold fingers made him jump.

Large, calloused hands lifted him into strong arms. The faint chill of the hard mail he wore pressing into his skin as he was moved across the room, though Anduin could only guess at their destination. The almost unfathomable potency of the sensations of mail and skin on skin muddling his perception so much that he was left uncertain as to how long it was before he was set down on something soft. Something soft which his mind ultimately managed to process as a bed. His own, most likely, as he doubted Nathanos would have gotten far had he attempted to carry him naked passed the guardsmen posted outside his chamber doors.

Blinded and deafened by the spell he’d been put under Anduin’s efforts to locate his partner were relegated to a futile attempt to locate him by pawing at the air. Larger hands enclosing his and gently moving them aside. The body above him rumbling with what might have been laughter as Anduin responded by following those hands up the arms they were attached to and wrapping around his shoulders. Clinging to him. Reveling in the heightened sensation of cold scarred skin against his own.

Lips found his again a moment later and, though he couldn’t be certain, Anduin was rather sure he mewled. For a moment cursing his gloves, even with the enchantments woven into the leather which allowed him to retain a modicum of sensation in his fingers, he slid his hands up along the Dark Ranger’s broad back and into his hair. Tilting his head back to coax the languid exploration of his tongue deeper. So distracted by the curl of their tongues and the heady mix of dry wine and Nathanos’ taste that he didn’t notice the tightening of his chest from lack of air until the older man pulled back, allowing him to gasp for breath. Another rumble quaked through them both as Nathanos began a methodical trek along his jaw line and down the side of his neck. Dry lips tracing along the curve of his collar bone. Cold tongue dipping into the hollow of his throat. Then moving lower.

Anduin’s breath stuttered when the Dark Ranger Lord took one of his nipples in his mouth, dexterous fingers seeing to the other. His spine curving into an arch which lifted his back from the sheets. The arm which wound around his waist held him there. Nathanos, seemingly, satisfied with the attention he’d paid to that particular portion of his body, or perhaps due to being pressed for time in seeing to all of the others, moving on. Continuing downwards along his ribs and over his belly. Nuzzling into the soft flesh he found there. Littering the sensitive expanse with open mouthed kisses and the gentle scraping of teeth which left trails of goosebumps in their wake. The hand which wasn’t splayed across the small of his back, holding him in place, having resumed its common pathing up and down his sides as if of its own accord. Almost as though those cold fingers were attempting to commit to memory every aspect of the sensation of the touch of his skin. And Anduin, helpless beneath Nathanos’ magic, was left wholly at their almost reverent mercy.

He didn’t know how long it was that he lay beneath the older man, reveling in the explorative gentle touches, waiting for Nathanos to make whatever move he had planned, before his patience was rewarded by the familiar press of an oiled finger against his entrance. Working its way in up to the first knuckle, then the second before another finger joined it. Then a third. An unheard whine pressing itself against his teeth as the fingers were withdrawn, Nathanos pressing firmly into him and setting a steady pace. Lips finding their way back to his jawline, tracing up along it to just behind his ear. His hearing suddenly returning with a soft pop.

“Perfect, Anduin.” The rumbled words were gilded with affection. “Absolutely perfect.”

The young King’s efforts to cut off into a gasping whine as Nathanos found the bundle of nerves buried deep within him which sent pleasure surging up his spine like lightning. Calloused hands gripping his hips as he sped his pace, chasing the promise of relief over the edge. Huffing out breaths he didn’t need as he sagged to the sheets beside him. A gentle touch to his temple restoring his vision a moment later.

“Clean yourself up, Wrynn, before you retire for the night.” It was almost reluctantly that Nathanos sat up and rose from the bed. “I’ve things to see to.”

“I’m sure those things, whatever they are, can wait a few hours more.” Anduin did his best to flutter his eyelids and strike an inviting pose but only ended up feeling foolish. “And I could use some company.”

“I don’t know what it is that you’re expecting, Wrynn. No matter how many times you ask me to stay I’m not going to.” Though he looked as if he wanted to. A noticeable charge from prior efforts, which had commonly been met with little beyond annoyance and disdain. “Do desist.”

“Never.” Anduin said around a grin, earning an exasperated roll of glowing eyes. “Meet me in the Aerie tomorrow morning. We’ll be traveling up North.”

“North?” Nathanos repeated, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve business in Ironforge, my Liege?”

“No. In the Plaguelands.”

“Paladins.” The Dark Ranger grumbled. “Marvelous.”

“You’ll survive.” Anduin snickered. “I doubt you’ll have to deal with them more than briefly, if at all.”

“And why would that be?”

“My interest lies elsewhere than with the Argent Crusade.” Anduin said. “It’s a matter of family business.”

Nathanos huffed, folding his arms over his bare chest. “Well, any contact with Paladins is too much, in my opinion. Light wielders are truly insufferable.” Noticing the blonde’s raised eyebrow, he said, rather sourly “except for you. Now go to bed!”

Anduin’s laughter was like brazen bells, and the Dark Ranger Lord tried not to dwell on the odd warmth the sound brought him as he turned and swept from the room.


	24. The Marris Stead

The pale morning sunlight still carried with it the chill of predawn as Anduin stood on the hay strewn planks of Stormwind’s Aerie, doing his best to wrap the cloak he wore tighter around himself while still retaining a firm grip on the grave stone in his arms. For a long time, the only sounds to keep him company had been the wind and the drowsy chirps of the waking griffins, so when Nathanos suddenly spoke from beside him the Priest almost pitched over into the water below.

“Did you even sleep?”

“For a few hours, though quite deeply. You wear me out, ‘Than.”

“Tch!” The Dark Ranger Lord had, once again, dispensed with the contents of the wardrobe Anduin had provided and which he only really ever seemed to wear to amuse him and had dressed instead in his usual ensemble of dark armor. Slung over broad shoulders, alongside his bow and quiver, was the bag presumably containing Boots. “Aren’t young people supposed to have more stamina?”

“This young person was a virgin before you arrived to ravish me on a nightly basis.” Anduin grinned at him, aware his cheeks were tinted pink but forcing himself to ignore it. “I’m still building that stamina.”

Nathanos huffed at him, rather expectedly at this point, and looked up over with his glowing red eyes. That burning gaze falling almost immediately on what he held. “What is that?”

“A surprise.” Anduin said. “A surprise that is going to be either good or bad.”

“What?”

“Well,” The King fixed him in what could only be described as puppy dog eyes and Nathanos was horrified to realize a part of him, however small, melted at the mere exposure “please don’t be mad.”

“Anduin!” He growled.

“You remember the conversation that we had at the Daelin Memorial?”

“About gravestones?”

“And why we’re traveling to the Plaguelands today?”

Nathanos crossed his arms and glared. “You said that it was a matter of family business.”

“It is.” Anduin held the cloth wrapped stone out to him. “Just not for my family.”

Taking the stone, apparently caught momentarily by surprise by the weight of it, Nathanos pulled back the cloth and froze. Expression rotating from shock to fury to mild horror and then going blank. Glowing eyes raised to meet his. “What is this?”

“Overstepping my bounds.” Anduin said. “But he deserves peace. And you deserve closure. So, please, indulge me in this.”

In all honesty, from the cold detachment of his expression, Anduin feared not only that Nathanos would deny him but that his standing with him might have been damaged. Then, with a hissing sigh and air of annoyance, he shoved the stone back towards him. “Fine, Wrynn.” He said. “Just don’t expect what’s left of the Marris Stead to be a place of lodging befitting of royalty. It never was to begin with.”

“But it was home to you, once.” Anduin said as he watched the other man storm towards Bloodwing as he rewrapped the stone. “That’s more than enough.”

Another huff as Nathanos called the riding bat down from its perch and hauled himself up into the saddle. Recognizing that such a dismissal meant that, though the Dark Ranger Lord was far from pleased, their ultimately wouldn’t be lasting consequences for their relationship Anduin finished securing the gravestone to the back of his griffin’s saddle before mounting up himself. Settling down behind the beast’s withers and prodding it out into the air, preparing to wait out the five-hour journey ahead. Glancing back over the glittering water below the Aerie’s perch beside the Walk of Heroes he saw Bloodwing’s dark form swoop after him. The Dark Ranger Lord’s mount swiftly catching up with his and taking up a vanguard position on his left.

Elwynn Forest’s emerald canopy fell behind them as they climbed into the mountains which ridged the Eastern Kingdom’s interior, brown rock and soft grasses giving way to charcoal and veins of magma as they passed over the Searing Gorge and Burning Steppes. The air was hot and sulfurous, becoming more difficult to breathe as they passed over the rumbling peak of Blackrock Mountain, know Alliance holding under the Dark Iron Dwarves and former lair of the Blackwing, Nefarian and the Dark Horde that served him.

_Burning yellow eyes and violet scales. Powerful talons locked around his middle in a painful grip which pressed against his ribs, dragging him up and away from the ground. Away from his father and his people and his home to a fate unknown and likely dire._

“Anduin!” Nathanos’ harsh bark jerked him free of his spiraling thoughts just in time for the young King to realize he’d begun to pitch from the saddle and right himself. Gasping. The toxic air burning his lungs. “You don’t look well.”

“I’m alright.” That didn’t sound in any way reassuring and Nathanos raised an eyebrow at him without comment. His throat felt as if it had been rubbed raw. “Just some uncomfortable memories is all. That and I think that the fumes may be getting to me.”

A grunt in reply before Nathanos jerked his chin upwards. “Higher. There should be fresher air above the cloud line.”

He didn’t wait for Anduin’s reply and drove Bloodwing higher, forcing the Priest to follow or lose sight of him completely. The clouds were tinted yellow and burned against his skin as he passed through them but, admittedly, it was easier to breathe once he’d gotten there.

The leathery snap of the riding bat’s wings drifted closer and Anduin turned his head. Nathanos acted quickly to school his expression but didn’t quite manage to hide the concern on his face. “Better, Wrynn?”

He nodded, eyes watering. The cold air chilling the tear tracks on his face. “Better. Thank you.”

Another huff and, with the latter of the leather barding’s which bound the saddle to the riding bat’s back, Nathanos steered his mount away again. Restoring the distance between them. Anduin had to hold back to urge to giggle, leading to a loud snort rather unbecoming of royalty which earned him yet another raised eyebrow.

The cold, snow laced air which met them as they climbed yet higher into Dun Morough was more than welcome. The wintry bite of the wind a welcome trade off for the caustic fumes which spewed from the roiling volcano. Shivering and wrapping his traveling cloak around him Anduin settled down against the saddle to wait out the coldest leg of their journey. Watching the glittering snow and dark green alpine forests sweeping by below them.

Preferable as the frigid conditions were to the Searing Gorge Anduin couldn’t help but be relieved by the return of milder temperatures over the Wetlands. The damage done to the area by the Cataclysm had only been partially rectified in the years which had passed since Deathwing’s world shattering return, Menethil Harbor most notably still being mostly submerged and yellow spined Murlocs darted through the tepid, knee high waters which drowned the rustling cat tails.

Arathi Highlands and the Hinterlands beyond them beyond still bore the signs of the recently passed Faction conflicts in the area yet Anduin paid the battle scars borne by the lands below them little mind. Attention wholly focused, now, on Nathanos who seemed to grow more and more tense the closer that they drew to the mountainous ridge which separated the Hinterlands from what had once been Lordaeron.

Eastweald, the area had once been called if memory served.  Anduin had never seen the area himself but he’d read about it many times and heard the stories told. A bastion of undeath, held by the Scourge. A blighted mass of land, sickened to its very core and beyond hope of salvation from even the strongest and most dedicated Druids and Shaman. Some of those claims, at least, appeared to have been false as though it was plain on sight that the area still suffered and much of it remained blighted with monstrous mushrooms where trees had once grown the Paladins of the Argent Crusade, with Cenarion assistance, had made considerable progress and traces of healthy greenery had begun to return.

Anduin glanced over at Nathanos yet again only to find that the Dark Ranger Lord was paying him no mind. His red eyes set on the land blow them and far away. The young King pulled back on the reigns of his mount to slow the griffin down, allowing Bloodwing to pull ahead. The red winged riding bat leading him off to the north east to a small ridge atop which stood the dilapidated ruins of what might once have been a farm house, flanked by the decrepit forms of towering pines.

The grass below them was withered brown, the soil beneath drier than death itself. Little puffs of it rose up around his shinned leather boots as he dismounted. Nathanos, too, had dismounted and now stood a handful of paces away from him, staring up at the shell of what had once been his home. A place which, undoubtedly, held an untold number of precious memories.

Anduin forced himself to contain his curiosity.

Without a word the older man reached into the bag on his shoulder and lifted the little puppy free. Setting Boots, groggy but very much awake, down on the desolate ground and leaving her to nose about and examine their surroundings.

“It was green here, once.” Nathanos’ rumbling voice was an almost jarring contradiction to the silence which had since fallen between them. He wasn’t looking at him but Anduin thought that he was aware, regardless, that he was being stared at. “The trees, when they lived, would tint the air with the smell of cedar. The frogs that lived along the Throndroril’s banks and the night birds in the forests would sing at dusk. We kept horses in the old pasture for the first few years of Stephon’s life but it fell out of use in favor of one closer to the river and became overgrown with wild flowers. Amaranth and Silverleaf and Angel’s Trumpet. He’d spend hours out there.”

“Are there flowers now?” He asked.

Nathanos didn’t look at him. “They died when the land did.”

Anduin felt something inside him wither, the temptation to back down from further prodding at the matter rising up, but the young King forced it down. Thin fingers undoing the knots which bound the stone to the back of his saddle. “Is there anywhere else on the property which holds stronger memories of him?”

The Dark Ranger’s posture was so stiff that Anduin found himself concerned, not for the first time, that his spine would snap in two at its base. “Let’s get this over with, Wrynn.”

“This isn’t something which can or should be rushed-.”

Nathanos rounded on him, eyes blazing, and Anduin nearly jumped back in alarm. “I’m indulging you in a matter highly personal. _Don’t_ push it!”

“I’m sorry.” Anduin said, and he meant it. It had been plain when they’d first broached the subject that Nathanos hadn’t ever once attempted to confront what had happened. That he hadn’t lashed out even verbally, when he’d revealed the gravestone was a mild miracle onto itself. Without another word he held it out to him.

For a moment it seemed as if Nathanos wouldn’t take it. And then after those taloned fingers wrapped around its contoured edges it seemed as if he might throw it at him instead. Then he growled and turned on his heel, traipsing around the side of the house and out of sight.

Boots whined and pawed at his shin. Sighing, Anduin bent and picked her up before trotting hurriedly after his companion.

Behind the ruined Marris Stead, the rise slopped down into a gentle hill, eventually flattening out into a swath of open land edged by a line of half dead trees and, far in the distance, the serpentine curve of the Throndroril River. The patchy, sick looking grass was taller here and hissed around his ankles as he hurried to catch up with Nathanos who’d come to a stop, at least, seemingly at random, in the middle of the former pasture.

It had been near to evening when they’d arrived, and the rapid thickening of clouds overhead had only further darkened the sky as night neared. Anduin cast a wary glance overhead only to have a raindrop, fat and cold, fall into his eyes. He recoiled with a yelp of surprise as more began to fall, rapidly intensifying until they threatened downpour.

“Go inside.” The bite from before had left his voice, replaced by a worn resignation. He kept his back to him, expression resolutely hidden as he knelt before the gravestone now placed on the ground. “No reason for you to catch your death out here.”

“Of course.” Curious as he was, he recognized the other man’s need for privacy. “With the way the weather’s looking and the unfortunate reality of the fact I didn’t put my hearthstone where I thought I did it seems that we’ll be spending the night…here. Take all the time you need.”

The Dark Ranger Lord didn’t reply and Anduin couldn’t even be certain that he’d heard him. Pulling the hood of his traveling cloak over his head and wrapping Boots in part of it to shield the puppy as well the young King made for the ruined building behind them. Making it inside just before the heavens opened with a resounding crack of thunder.

The Marris Stead was in an even worse state on the inside than it was on the outside, a not inconsiderable hole in both the roof and second floor overhead dividing the building in half. The stairs leading up to the floor above didn’t inspire a terrible amount of confidence in him and so Anduin paid them a wide berth.  Setting Boots down on the bone-dry floor he sat down against the dusty wall beside the soot scoured hearth and closed his eyes.

All traces of daylight were gone by the time he was drawn from his trace by the feeling of heavy eyes on him. Boots had claimed his lap as a bed and her warm weight making his legs go rapidly numb. He raised his head and blinked through the dimness as the older man stood over him.

“Sleeping, Wrynn?” Nathanos’ low voice barely rose above the rain. “It’s barely nightfall. Don’t tell me travel wore you out that much.”

“Meditation, Nathanos, not sleep.” Lifting Boots off of him and receiving a disgruntled grumble for his effort, Anduin pushed himself up on unsteady legs. “Did it help?”

“It? You mean this waste of both our time? This exercise in you doing as nobles always do: poking their noses into matters which don’t concern them and to which they have no right?”

Anduin barely resisted the urge to cringe in the face of the venom in his tone. “I know that-.”

“You know nothing!”

“But-.”

“Quiet! Before I do something I’ll regret and you likely won’t live to.”

“The entire reason that I-.”

“Anduin!”

“Nathanos, please. I’m only trying to help you.” Anduin knew, from the way the older man was glaring at him and growling like a wild dog, that he was approaching the thorn at the source of his pain but that between him and it was a stretch of very dangerous ground. The last active step in their game would be to pull that thorn free-allow the wound beneath it to finally begin to heal and the tangled mass of self-hatred and ill feeling to unravel beneath its own weight-but the irate dragon in his way was equally as likely to let him pass unmolested as it was to swallow him whole. Steeling himself and silencing the desperate instinct to drop the matter there Anduin pushed forward. “If there was one thing you could say to him now-.”

“ ** _I regret it!”_** The ruined building shook to its foundations. Boots let out a terrified yelp and bolted, hiding herself beneath a half-collapsed table. Anduin paled but held his ground in the face of the Dark Ranger who towered above him, teeth bared and eyes blazing. But the rage, violet as it was, faded even faster than it had come leaving an echoing chasm of despair behind it. When he spoke again his voice was broken. “He knew me as his brother. As someone who could always be depended on to look after him. I promised that I’d always protect him, it was the last thing I said before he fled to safety, and he believed me but I lied! I _broke_ my promise to the _only_ family I had left. All because I was too _weak_ to tell her no!” He turned away, shoulders rising and falling with laborious huffing breaths he didn’t need. Posture collapsing in on itself. “Maybe denying her would have made no difference. Maybe it would have cost us both our lives. But maybe I could have gotten him out, at least.  He still _had_ a life, Wrynn! He deserved to live it but I failed him. And I’ll never forgive myself for that. Of all my sins-and there are many _many_ of those-that’s the one for which I deserve to suffer the most.”

“But you don’t.” Forcing hesitance aside, aware of Boots’ still wary gaze from where she’d hunkered down beneath the broken table, Anduin rested a hand on his shoulder. Nathanos noticeably tensed but didn’t otherwise react. “You’re not evil, ‘Than. Evil doesn’t regret its actions. And I’m sure Stephon wouldn’t want to see you continuing to carry this cross. Not when he himself had undoubtedly already absolved you of blame.”

“Absolved me?” the utter disbelief in his tone and the set of his expression made it seem as if Anduin had just pronounced something wholly preposterous. “I looked in him the eye, Wrynn, as he lay on that altar and even knowing what she planned to do to him I didn’t intervene. He thought I was a monster when he first laid eyes on me that night. He was right.”

“You’re _not_ a monster, ‘Than!” Anduin said. “He loved you. Family forgives.”

Nathanos’ expression, then was a painful rictus of unplaceable emotion. “I’ll believe that when I see some proof of it. I don’t expect I ever will.” He shrugged the Priest’s hand from his shoulder before he could attempt to respond and started for the stairs. “It’s getting dark and getting colder and I don’t want to see you fall ill from the damp, not to mention the fact I need a damn drink. Stay here. I’ll be back down to light a fire.”

 _Drink?_ He watched the older man ascend the less than trustworthy stairs, wondering precisely what Nathanos intended to be drinking-he’d stated before on a number of occasions that alcohol was worthless to the undead-and where he planned to get it from. Though, he supposed, it wasn’t impossible that he had set up a stash somewhere on the property during the years he’d spend isolated here which had remained hidden when he’d left.

The echoing groans of snapping wood pulled Anduin from his musings and he looked up. Curious as he admittedly was regarding the source of the noise-wood was being broken somewhere in the ruined Stead but was he tearing up floor boards or butchering the remnants of furniture which had persisted through the years? -the young King refused to risk the stairs and so returned to where he’d been sitting before. Boots eventually emerging from her hiding place and slinking over to him.

Nathanos returned a handful of minutes later, his strong arms filled with broken wood-it looked to Anduin that, yes, he had been ripping up the floor-and a dust bottle of some unrecognizable bright green liquid was wedged into the crook of one elbow. Kneeling before the empty fire place he quickly arranged the boards and then struck them alight with a flint taken from the bag at his belt. Satisfied with the intensity of the blaze Nathanos picked up the dusty bottle again and moved to sit beside him.

“Join me?” he held it out.

Anduin took the bottle and wiped the dust from the glass. Squinting through the flickering light at the yellowed label wrapped around d it. “Undercity Skull Shocker?”

“The strongest alcoholic beverage on Azeroth. Has to be to be of any use to us.” Taking it back Nathanos hook his talons beneath the cap and popped it off. Allowing the metal to drop to the dried-out boards with a quiet clatter. “Up to share?”

“I have it on good confidence that you don’t share.” In the face of the withering glare that earned him Anduin couldn’t help but grin.

“I’m responsible enough to recognize that an entire bottle of this would poison you.” Nathanos growled, taking a swig before holding it out again. “Even half of one is pushing it. Don’t spit it out.”

Taking the bottle again, this time by the neck, Anduin brought it to his nose. Taking a cursory whiff and wincing as the telltale burn of alcohol stung his senses. Shaking his head blearily he took a swig himself. Sour. More like vinegar than drink he’d ever had before. It tasted vile but the warm buzz which set in almost instantly and the blatant comradery inherent in the offer made it bearable.

“Bad?” the Blightcaller sounded amused as he took the bottle back.

“Obscene.” Anduin told him. “Hit me again.”

Snorting and rolling his eyes Nathanos took another drink and then a third before he passed the bottle back. The young King took his own second drink, enjoying the way it made his eyes feel hevy,

“I was proud of him.”

The suddenness of his words made Anduin start and look up. “Proud of who?”

“Stephon. He’d always wanted to be a knight. A Paladin. Sylvanas, one time she came to visit me here at the Stead, gave him a gold coin. Told him to use it to buy his first sword one day.”

“Did he?”

Nathanos shook his head, the powerful alcohol making his tongue more limber. “No. He held onto it for years until he learned the truth of what happened to us. To me. He threw it into the Throndroril. It’s long gone by now. Has to be. There’s not enough coincidence in the world to find that coin.”

“Who says it has to be coincidence?”

“What else could it be?”

“Providence?” Anduin shrugged at nothing in particular. His head was swimming slightly but he didn’t care.

Nathanos grunted a dismissal and motioned impatiently for the bottle’s return. Anduin nearly dropped it as he moved to hand it over. “I was proud of him, Wrynn.” He said again, taking another deep drink. Half the bottle was gone now. The glow of his red eyes had dimmed somewhat. The more sober part of the Priest wondered how long it had been since Nathanos last drank something able to affect him. “Proud of him for years. Because I knew, for years, that he’d succeeded. Made of himself what he’d wanted to. Endured.”

“How did you know?” there was a distortion on the opposite wall, or maybe it was simply a trick of the light. Anduin squinted at it, brows drawing together, but couldn’t settle on a conclusion.

“You look like a dumb ass.” Nathanos helpfully informed him, tapping him on the side of the head with the bottle. “Drink more.”

Anduin obliged, almost spilling the Skull Shocker down his front in the process. His tongue had begun to feel numb and he had to concentrate more than normal on his words. “But how did you know, though?”

“Did you think I sat here with my thumb up my ass all these years?” Nathanos demanded. “Fuck, Wrynn. Have a bit of sense!”

“Sense?” he hiccupped. “I never said you sat around doing nothing. Were you watching him?”

“Sure as shit. You know I can do it without being seen. Easy. Done it to you.” Another drink. Only the dregs were left in the bottle, now, and Nathanos seemed to momentarily contemplate the merits of chucking it at the wall. His speech had begun to become slightly slurred. “The Plaguelands are still dangerous today but the roads used to be even worse, years ago. Stephon thought that freeing me of my curse was his burden to bear and for a long time before he got desperate enough to hire those witless lackies he’d walk the roads outside the Stead every night. He hoped to one day happen upon me. But he never realized I was never far behind. Always just out of sight. Making sure he never came across something he couldn’t handle. Something that might be able to hurt him. All those years I watched over him. And yet when it really mattered, I wasn’t there.”

Anduin hiccupped again and in the drawn-out silence which followed stared at his gloves. Nathanos looked at him like he’d lost his mind when he held out his hands.

“Eh?”

“Take them off.”

“What happened to not being comfortable?”

“You shared something personal.” Anduin desperately hoped that such logic would be more passable to the other man whilst inebriated than it would have been while sober. “Now it’s my turn.”

“You’re drunk.”

“So are you. Take them off.”

Nathanos didn’t act immediately though whether that was out of a desire to be sure he was certain or a result of being a few steps south of sober Anduin couldn’t tell. Then, with surprising delicacy, the Dark Ranger Lord took his hands in his own and paused again. This time clearly in an effort to present him with a final out. When he didn’t take it, the older man pulled his own gauntlets off before slipping his fingers beneath the lip of Anduin’s left glove. Peeling the soft leather back with a single firm tug. Eyes going wide at the sight of the scars which met him.

Pulling the right glove free only to find the same scars Nathanos’ glowing gaze lifted from the raised bite scars after a drawn-out silence. “What drove you to do this to yourself?” somehow the question managed to sound gentle despite the underlying insinuation of “who or what do I have to hunt down and brutally slaughter?”

“Katrana Prestor. Onyxia in human guise.” It was a struggle not to look away, painful memories threatening to yet again overwhelm him. “If there’s one thing that the Black Dragonflight specialized in it was cruelty. And it’s incredibly damaging to be constantly terrorized during your formative years.”

“A Black Dragoness hid in plain sight in Stormwind’s Court, plotted against the Alliance and psychologically tortured his only son and heir and your father did nothing?”

“It wasn’t his fault.” Nathanos’ furious sputtering made it plain he disagreed. “My mother’s death hit him hard. He loved her. And I know he blamed himself. It hit him hard. Between his depression and the fact that everyone in the Court was ensorcelled there wasn’t much in his power. And then, well…let’s just say it took a while to get rid of her.”

“These are old scars.” His thumb slid across the raised silvered flesh as he examined the back of his hands. “You said on the boat, back in Kul Tiras, that you hadn’t done this to yourself in years yet you still wear the gloves.”

“Habit.” Anduin admitted. “Father, well, overprotective was a bit of an understatement for him and I always worried he’d over react if he ever saw them. And, though I’m much more stable now, and sign of weakness would be blood in the water, or as good as, to the nobles.”

“Those sharks will regret it if they ever attempt to come for you.”

“And why would that be?”

The look he received served well to communicate Nathanos’ utter lack of desire to play that sort of game. “They’d have to go through me.” Anduin tried to smile but a cavernous yawn prevented him. “The older man released his hands. “You should get some sleep. With luck a full night’s rest will keep a hangover at bay.”

“Yeah.” The young King sighed. “Probably a good idea.” With that said the little Priest began looking around the crumbling room for anything which might serve to pass as a bed. A bolt of lighting cracked overhead, illuminating his dour prospects. “Floor it is, then.”

But a cold hand on his shoulder kept him from commencing an effort to make himself as comfortable as possible on the bare wood. Blue eyes flicked up to red ones, glowing faintly in the storm dark. “I think I’m considerably more comfortable than the floor is.”

Anduin blinked, his mind taking a moment to process what had been said and everything that it implied. “Are you…offering your lap?”

“Would you take me up on the offer if I was?”

Another drawn out moment of staring before Anduin finally gathered up the impetus to move. Cautiously at first. Arranging himself comfortably, or as much as he could, and laying his head down in the Dark Ranger Lord’s lap. He half expected Nathanos to pull a fast one on him and suddenly dump him onto the ground but all the older man did was settle in against the wall, seeming to prepare himself for the coming stationary hours with his only company the steady pounding of the rain.

“Goodnight.” Anduin said softly, closing his eyes and almost immediately beginning to drift.

Gently, a cold hand came to rest on the top of his head. “Goodnight, Anduin.”


	25. Mementos

For hours the only sounds had been the crackling of the dying fire, the drumming of the rain and thunder from outside and Anduin’s gentle breathing. The Priest had fallen asleep almost immediately after lying down, aided no doubt by their long hours of travel and the powerful alcohol he’d consumed, and had since shifted position in his sleep until he’d wound up nuzzled into the older man’s hip. Pinned beneath the not inconsiderable weight of the young Monarch, Nathanos had no recourse for escaping the little Plaguehound’s disturbingly knowing gaze, so he’d elected to simply ignore it instead. But his ability to maintain the effort was steadily ticking down to nothing while Boots’ ability to continue staring seemed to carry no such limits and he knew he’d soon have no choice but to face her.

Better to do it on his own terms.

Huffing out a heavy sigh, though mindful to keep himself from disturbing the younger man in his lap, red eyes turned onto glowing green ones. Boots gazed back at him with faux innocence and wagged her tail. The Blightcaller forced the fingers which had been absently petting soft strands of blonde hair to still.

“We have to go back.” He said quietly. “There isn’t a choice.”

Though the Light knew he didn’t want to.

Boots huffed and maneuvered herself into a more comfortable position.

“It’s not that simple, damn it! I can’t just…betray her on a whim!”

The hound was obviously not convinced and the deadpan look she gave him made that very plain. Some small part of the Dark Ranger Lord, admittedly aided by the fact he hadn’t quite clawed his way back to being fully sober yet, began to feel absurdly pressured by the animal.

“Things aren’t that simple! I can’t betray her. And…I can’t betray him. How could I admit the real reason I’m here and expect him to look the other way? To continue to be…to be…like this.”

Boots’ staring didn’t relent and Nathanos was at loath to admit that he shifted, even if just slightly, in discomfort.

“It’s better this way.” Better to continue as he had been, denying that part of him-a part of him that was getting larger every day-which had grown to truly care for the little Priest. To continue denying himself the forgiveness which Anduin believed so strongly in and he didn’t think he’d ever deserve. To murder his redemption and return to his Queen’s side, deed done and precious blood on his hands. Sylvanas, whom he’d never ceased to love, whom he never would, but the remaining ashes of the relationship they’d had in life was nothing beside the pyre that engulfed everything the young King touched. They’d never faded, not completely, but had grown cold and dull. Overshadowed by the roaring tongues of flame.

He’d always told himself that those ashes were enough. That the withered husk of feelings was enough. The devotion left behind, like a fossilized imprint of what had once been, left to stand as a testament to history, was enough. That he needed nothing more.

But it wasn’t. Not anymore. Not now that he’d been exposed to what still, somehow and against all odds, remained possible for him through the soft hearted idiot who’d been dumb enough to let a wolf in through the door.

But what choice did he have?

The short huff Boots made alerted him to her opinion: stay. The obvious choice, to her. But she was only a hound. Only an animal, if an intelligent one. Her view of the world was simple.

In that moment, at least in this regard, he wished his could be too. Wished he could simply choose to continue the farce indefinitely and without consequence. Go on pretending that he’d betrayed the Horde, joined the Alliance, in good faith. That whatever it was that had formed between them was real.

Of course it was real! Damn it all, and dare he admitted it, he’d fallen for the brat curled up in his lap! And that made it all the worse. Everything would still have to come to its inevitable conclusion. Their story had no other end.

Maybe that was just another facet of his curse, if not divine punishment for daring to reach for something which was beyond him now. Love. Warmth. Happiness. Those were for the living, not the damned.

“Would you truly say a prayer for the damned, Wrynn, if you were asked? Would the Light hear you, if you did?”

The rain continued coming down outside and neither the Priest sprawled out in a drunken coma or the Light bothered to answer him. Boots, however, was feeling quite focal and piped up with a reprimanding yap.

“What would you know? You’re not even a year old!”

To that much the hound had no answer, or maybe she’d simply tired of him, because he received no response. She went so far as to turn her back on him completely.

Feeling more exhausted than he could recall ever having felt since dying the Dark Ranger Lord heaved a heavy sigh and let his head fall back against the wall. Marveling at the warmth of Anduin’s skin and the softness of his hair as his fingers, of their own accord, or so it seemed, resumed their compulsive ministrations. Was there a worse sin than the part he’d had to play in Stephon’s death? Nathanos doubted it. But surely the murder of something as pure as the young man before him ranked up there.

Nathanos didn’t know how long he sat their listening to the rumbling of the storm and the soft rhythm of Anduin’s breathing but though it was still dark outside the windows by the time he opened his eyes the distant approach of morning had begun to lightening the blackness to a charcoal grey and he found himself suddenly overcome with the inability to remain where he sat for even a moment longer. A desperate energy, a need to be anything but stationary, filling him. Waring with the desire to watch over the sleeping, vulnerable Priest quite viciously before emerging, bloody but victorious.

They hadn’t brought supplies with them, not intending to stay even as long as they had, and the Living needed to eat. Anduin, when he woke, would no doubt be hungry. He could put this inconvenient flightiness to use and hunt down something unblighted-a rabbit or small deer or, hell, even a bat-which could serve to feed the King later that day. And with how deeply he was sleeping it was obvious that shifting him wouldn’t even register.

Carefully sliding his hands beneath the Priest’s head, Nathanos transferred Anduin from his lap and onto the dried out floor boards. Redonning his taloned gloves and swinging his bow and quiver back onto his shoulders, he turned his attention to Boots who’d likewise ceased to ignore him. Her green eyes held a mix of curiosity and concern.

“Stay here. Watch him. If anything comes onto this property with the intent to do him harm, I don’t care what it is, **_kill it_**! I’m understood?”

Plaguehounds couldn’t talk so he’d simply have to accept the wagging tail as a yes.

Nodding at her gruffly, Nathanos turned towards the doorway only to be pulled back to where he’d left Anduin lying on the dusty floorboards. Huffing in annoyance, more with himself and the rapidly mounting weakness the Priest seemed able to breed within him, the Dark Ranger Lord returned first to the fireplace, shoving fresh timber on top of the crumbling planks the flames had already eaten through before prodding them back into a proper blaze, and then the young King. First arranging Anduin’s cloak so that it covered him over and then-after a drawn out hesitation because, damn it all, without the water scaled cloak he was going to be soaked to the bone by the torrential downpour in full swing outside-pulling off his own and folding it before pushing the fabric beneath Anduin’s head.

Nathanos put a great effort into ignoring the hound’s amused snort as he marched hurriedly out the door and into the driving rain. Hissing in displeasure as the frigid droplets immediately saturated the leathers worn beneath his mail, he scanned the ground beneath his feet with red eyes. Trained gaze sweeping the mess of mud and dead grass for signs of passing game but finding nothing.

In truth, why would there be? There was nothing living on the remnants of his family plot that even small animals like mice or rabbit could survive on, let alone something larger like a deer. Which also went a long way towards explaining the absence of the remaining undead in the area in spite of the deterrent of his presence having long since faded.

But everything living needed water and the largest source of it nearby was the Throndroril. Perhaps he’d have better luck there.

With a last glance in the direction of the old pasture, and the grave stone which now stood there, Nathanos started towards the bend in the river that bordered the property. Trudging through a copse of half dead trees which were all that separated him from the water and coming out of the other side a handful of minutes later.

The steep slope of the bank was grown over with pallid grass and the delicate dried-blood blossoms of a handful of Banshee’s Bells, transitioning into a slick slurry of viscous mud and silt just as it reached the water’s edge. The once clear blue current was now tinted a sickly looking yellow, like most other things in the ruined lands which had made up the lost Kingdom of Lordaeron. The pouring rain disturbed the surface into a rolling boil as it lapped at the rise of the land. The opposite bank wasn’t much better, though the trees beyond it in the Western Plaguelands looked far healthier than anything he’d seen so far on the side of the imposing stone bridge which he currently stood.

Nathanos’ red gaze scoured the muddy seam for signs of any animals which had recently been there to drink only to be met with the dull glint of tarnished metal buried in the mud. He wasn’t naturally curious or drawn to shinny objects yet something about this out of place thing nettled him enough that he couldn’t simply turn his back on it and walk away. Gritting his teeth and resigning himself to an investigation, if only a quick one before returning to the reason he’d chosen to endure the discomfort of being soaked through, the Blightcaller began the delicate process of descending the steep incline of slick grass and thick mud. At last reaching the water’s edge and excavating the offending object from the river’s grasp.

A golden coin, cast into the current’s mercy years before from the amount of tarnish present on its once glittering surface. Clearing away the clinging earth, the Blightcaller brought the coin closer for ease of inspection through the rumbling dark and nearly fell into the current himself.

The phoenix embossed across its face made it undeniably Quel’dorei in origin. A golden coin from the coffers of Quel’thalas before it’s fall, cast into the river to be forgotten. Just as had been the fate of the coin Sylvanas had given to Stephon for use in buying his first sword.

Nathanos didn’t believe in trite matters like signs and providence, as Anduin might have referred to such a thing, but he’d said himself that there wasn’t enough coincidence in the world to allow him to happen upon that very coin, or perhaps one just like it, hours after having spoken of his demons.

The sudden awareness of a presence not far behind him spun the Dark Ranger Lord around, arrow knocked and string drawn. Stopping just short of firing into the armored breastplate of the Paladin who’d come to a rather abrupt stop in surprise.

“Dawnbringer!” He snarled, lowering his weapon only with reluctance. “Don’t you know not to sneak up on a Ranger? You’re lucky I didn’t fill you with the contents of my quiver!”

“Blightcaller.” Eligor Dawnbringer’s face shifted into a set expression of cautious distaste. “What are you doing here?”

“I need not answer for my presence on my own property! You, however, are trespassing!”

“No one lives here anymore.”

“That,” he spat, “does nothing to invalidate my claim to the land my family owned for generations! What do you want, Paladin?”

“Nothing from you. From behind, I’d mistaken you for Stephon.” Nathanos wasn’t quick enough to keep the pained expression off his face. “I take it that something happened to him, then, and that you know exactly what. Perhaps even had a hand in it.”

The Dark Ranger Lord snarled, low and guttural, but the Paladin either didn’t recognize the warning or chose to ignore it.

“The Argent Crusade, as a neutral faction, prefers to remove ourselves from the Alliance and the Horde’s endless squabbling but if the Forsaken have done harm to one of ours-!”

“The Horde would have a problem with you, yes! How quaint. Well, Dawnbringer, find someone else to be your errand boy and deliver the dire warning to the Banshee Queen.”

“Who better than her Champion?”

“Former Champion.”

“What?”

“It’s neither your business nor your concern. But if your organization kept itself more abreast of word events, you’d be aware, surely, that I’ve left both the Forsaken and the Horde.” Retrieving the tarnished coin from where he’d dropped it in favor of his bow Nathanos slipped it into the bag on his belt and started up the steep bank. “I’ve things to do.”

“If you think I’m simply going to let you walk away, Blightcaller, you’re quite mistaken! We’ve made too much progress here to suffer a free roaming undead as powerful as-!”

“Then, by all means, you’re welcome to come along and babysit me rather than seeing to the patrol I’m sure you were in the middle of before I distracted you.” Nathanos snapped. “But so help me, if you scare away the game I’m serving _you_ for breakfast!”

“You’ve someone with you?”

A grunt was all the reply he got. With the only other available option, if he wanted to avoid a vicious fight, being allowing Nathanos to vanish into the weakening storm to who knew where in order to do who knew what the Paladin reluctantly trudged after him.

Nathanos seemed to have been genuine in his efforts at hunting, though for whom he intended to provide he couldn’t guess, and after another forty-five minutes of trudging through the storm and periodic torching glares they returned to the ruined Marris Stead.

The sun had risen and the rain slowed to a hazy drizzle by the time they arrived. A brief flash of shadows from inside was all the warning Eligor had before the Blightcaller’s companion stepped into the morning sunlight.

The High King of the Alliance looked as if he’d only recently woken up and yawned as he came to stop in the doorway. Pawing at the sleep still heavy in his eyes.

“I was worried when I woke up and found out that I’ve been left to Boots’ supervision. Where did you run off to?” turning his blue gaze onto the Paladin he smiled. “Commander Dawnbringer. To what do we owe the pleasure?”

The Blightcaller’s scoff made it clear he didn’t consider it such but Anduin’s smile didn’t falter.

“I…your Majesty?” his poor efforts to conceal his surprise only further amused the young Monarch, grin growing wider. “What are you doing here? And with a former member of the Horde?”

“Because that ‘former member of the Horde’ is only a former member of the Horde because he defected to the Alliance. Nathanos currently holds the position of my bodyguard.” He said. “Stay a while?”

Nathanos’ growl tinted the young King’s face a pale pink. “Oh, Light. I’m sorry Nathanos. This _is_ your house. I really ought to have asked permission. May he come over?”

Anduin, if he wasn’t mistaken, was pouting at the Dark Ranger Lord. And even more mindbogglingly it seemed to be having an effect.

“Fine.” The older man stepped around the blonde and flounced inside.

“Thank you, ‘Than.” There was a measure of amusement in his voice as he turned to follow him inside. “I’m sure I’ll be paying for this later.”

“I never do anything for free, Wrynn.”

“Well, I’m certainly looking forward to the means by which you intend to collect.”

Another grunt, though this one was edged with something other than annoyance. “I bet you are.”

This was…very odd.

The interior of the Marris Stead was about as well put together as he’d have expected any building left to rot in the Plaguelands to be. A half-broken table stood lopsided nearby, the rabbit now drapped over the upper half while Nathanos struggled to wedge a displaced leg back into its proper position.

Anduin made a poor attempt to conceal a smile behind his hand as he moved the empty bottle of Skull Shocker which had been left lying on the floor to a better position, where it was less likely to be slipped on. “I don’t need a table, you know. Though I appreciate the effort.”

“You’re royalty.”

“I slept on the ground almost every night in Pandaria. I may be high born but I’m able to live much lower than my social status for as long as need be without losing my screws. Unlike most of Stormwind’s House of Nobles. I won’t die if I have to stand and eat with my fingers.” Anduin said. “Got anymore Skull Shocker?”

“I don’t need you passing out again.”

The Priest’s laughter filled the ruined stead as Nathanos finally gave the doomed effort to repair the table up for lost and straightened up. Pulling the blade from his belt and setting about the grizzly duty of skinning the little animal.

Though Anduin seemed entirely unaware of it, or was perhaps overlooking the matter, the entire atmosphere was uncomfortable. Eligor wasn’t certain if he was more disconcerted by the casual butchery being perpetrated by a dead man or the fact that the High King was making eyes at said dead man while trying and failing to be subtle.

The Paladin cleared his throat. “Your Majesty, may I speak with you outside?”

Anduin blinked. “I don’t see why not.” He said. “We won’t be far, Nathanos.”

“Take Boots with you.” Was grunted without looking up.

The little Plaguehound yipped and trotted over to them.

“Oh, how could I ever not?” stooping down to lift the puppy into his arms, immediately being treated to a liberal licking, Anduin turned back to him. “Lead the way.”

The rain had stopped at last, leaving flecks of dew gleaming on the dried brown blades They stopped just far enough from both the door and the sizeable chunk missing from the front wall to have a reasonable expectation of privacy.

“Are you alright, your Majesty?”

“A bit hung over and rather stiff from sleeping on a wooden floor but golden aside from that.” He chirped. “Though I take it that your question has much more to do with who I’m with.”

“Former Champion of the Banshee Queen or not, Nathanos Blightcaller is among the most ruthless and dangerous undead currently still in existence today.” Eligor said. “And you’re here with him alone.”

“Ruthless is a good descriptor for quite a few of my fellow Alliance leaders as well, Commander Dawnbringer. Nathanos has only once given me reason to be concerned about his temper and he’s gotten better since.” Anduin said. “I understand why many Light wielders are leery of undeath and agree that such beasts as Ghouls and Geists are nothing but aberrations which need to be destroyed. But more sentient undead shouldn’t be dismissed outright as monsters, and instead empathized with for the curse placed upon them. Helped back onto the path to redemption.”

“You honestly believe, King Anduin, that Arthas could have been redeemed? That Sylvanas can still, in spite of all she’s done?”

“The first step in earning redemption, as I’m sure you know, is wanting it. They didn’t.”

“And you believe that the Blightcaller does?”

“I believe that he’s begun to.” Anduin said. “Not that he’d ever admit it. But that, I’ve found, is how Nathanos is. Blunt and taciturn, he’s more a man to make known when things he doesn’t want are suggested rather than put forward ideas of what he himself desires.”

“And…you get along?”

“I wouldn’t be out here alone if we didn’t. I’ve made a somewhat recent discover that I’m a bit of a masochist but that would be going a bit too far.” He scratched behind the Plaguehound’s pointed ears. “He acts very angry and puffs himself up when he feels threatened or the need to assert himself but once he gets used to you, and you don’t give him reason to dislike you, he reveals himself to be a bit softer than one might expect beneath all that bluster.”

“You sound fond of him.”

“I am.” There was no hesitation in the admittance. “It’s refreshing to have someone like him around. I’ll be sad to see him go, once the war is over, as he’s told me before he doesn’t intend to remain with the Alliance once the Hordes been dealt with.” He said. “While I have you out here allow me to ask after the Argent Crusade. I take it you’ve made the decision to remain neutral in this conflict, at least for the time being, and would have no larger Faction to back you were you to find yourselves in conflict?”

Had he just been threatened? The young Monarch projected far too much pleasantness to be sure.

Eligor was struck, and not for the first time in the last few minutes, that someone as spiteful as the Blightcaller hadn’t run away screaming yet.

“Wrynn!” Thinking of the Devil, or in this case the Undead, seemed to be enough to engender some means through which the focus of their conversation would make himself known. Apparently, they’d been out there in the fresh dew for longer than the Paladin had thought because the follow up shout was one of “food!”

The admittedly rather embarrassing noise the Priest’s stomach made in response to the mere mention of food tinted his cheeks a faint shade of pink, accompanied by a brief expression of nerves. Eligor couldn’t blame him as he wasn’t sure which outcome would be worse, if Nathanos had attempted to cook the rabbit or if he’d simply served it raw.

Setting the little hound in his arms down, allowing her to dart inside and promptly stick her head out of the giant hole in the wall to stare at them, Anduin followed her inside. Though the Paladin, once he’d hesitantly followed, found he’d stopped again only a few steps over the threshold.

“Light, that smells delicious!”

Nathanos’ withering look as he balanced the plate of roasted meat precariously on the half of the table still standing appeared to be little more than a mask for a rather conspicuous glimmer of pride. “Do desist from drooling on what remains of my floor.” He drawled. “That manner of behavior is unbecoming of an Orc, let alone Human royalty.”

“You almost sounded like my etiquette tutor there.” Anduin huffed as he approached the table; there were no chairs so he stood beside where the ‘plate’-improvised out of a passably clean board-had been set. “Where ever did you find the spices? You’ve no reason to have had them on you. I hadn’t even once considered you might be capable of cooking.”

The Blightcaller scoffed. “Imbecile.” And there it was again. The bizarre thread of affection woven through the words. Words which had meant to be, or at least appear, harsh. “Just because I haven’t had to cook for a hot minute doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten how. And, I’ll have you know, that my stash isn’t limited to the tools of inebriation. I squirreled away a handful of necessary supplies so that I could be prepared for any scenario that might occur.”

“Did you ever have to use them?” he almost sounded jealous.

“Eat!” Nathanos accompanied the order with the act of sharply pushing the food towards him.

Anduin rolled his eyes, desperately trying and utterly failing to mask his grin, and turned his attention to Eligor. “You know, it’s polite to offer food to both your guests. Not just the royal one.”

“ _I_ only invited one of those ‘guests’ into my home.” Nathanos quipped. “As far as I’m concerned, Anduin, the Paladin is an intruder!”

“Have it your way, then. I’ll be the one who offers him food.”

The Blightcaller snarled, glaring and showing his teeth like a rabid dog. Partly out of a lack of desire to run the risk of consuming anything which had been touched by the undead, especially while he hadn’t been looking, and partly out of a realization Nathanos was likely to rip his arms out of their sockets, if not off entirely, if he didn’t Eligor demurely-if only for the benefit of the King-turned the offer down.

Anduin’s brow creased but the expression of wary lasted only for a moment before it passed and he tucked into the flame charred rabbit. Not removing his gloves, the little blonde picked daintily at the food, Nathanos all the while alternating between watching him with a frankly ridiculous amount of self-satisfaction and lobbing poisonous death glares in Eligor’s direction.

“Edible?” he rumbled once Anduin had finished, feigning disinterest.

“Delicious!” Anduin chirped. “Though you didn’t have to go out of your way to hunt for me, ‘Than.”

There it was again. The bizarre pet name which seemed to be more of a slip the King wasn’t aware of than a purposeful calling. And Light, despite his rather gruff retort of “imbecile” the Blightcaller bloody preened!

This had gotten far too weird. Eligor cleared his throat lightly, drawing the attention of both men. “With due respect, are you finished with whatever business you might have had here your Majesty?” he asked. “It’s high time I made my way back to Light’s Hope Chapel and ended my rounds. I’m sure Archmage Angela Dosantos would be more than able to supply a portal to spare you the trouble of flying all the way back.”

Anduin glanced at his companion then, a question in his eyes. Nathanos hissed a sigh and then said “you’re needed back in Stormwind, my Liege, and I’ve spent far too many years squirreled away here already. Any nostalgia which might have remained wore out long ago.”

“But what about-?”

“You’ve achieved what you wished in this, Wrynn.” Aimed at anyone else it would have been venomous rather than a tired admission. “Should I need to I’ll return. And be it coincidence or ‘providence’, as you’d no doubt suggest, I’ve stumbled on a memento to bring with me. Remaining here will do nothing.”

“Very well.” Anduin said, handing the whimpering puppy one of the largest bones to chew on and turn to Eligor again. “Thank you, Lord Dawnbringer. We’ll take you up on that offer. Just give us a moment to collect our mounts.”


	26. An Unexpected Answer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, I'm not sure how to put a link to it here but i still want to make everyone aware of the amazing spin off fic Buntheridon wrote for this: Points of Authority. You all should definitely check it out when you get the chance.

Mathias Shaw wasn’t one prone to panicking. Years behind enemy lines perpetrating high profile assassinations had left him too hardened for that, but Light damn it all if his King didn’t stress him to the point the was surprised his hair still had any color left to it. Anduin hadn’t disappeared entirely without notice, he’d made it clear he’d be spending a few hours ‘up north’ though he hadn’t said he’d be spending an entire night there and hadn’t specified where-it was only through the SI:7 grapevine that Mathias had learned he wasn’t anywhere in the Dwarven held territories-but had left matters vague enough to leave him concerned he might wind up getting himself into trouble. Certainly considering that the only protection he’d taken with him had been the Blightcaller.

Admittedly Nathanos hadn’t yet proven himself to be anything other than what he presented as-a traitor to the Horde and dedicated, if only for his own benefit, protector of the House of Wrynn but Mathias wouldn’t put it passed the Banshee Queen to have engineered the plot, leading to her ‘former’ Champion behind veiled in deep cover.

It had never ceased to bother him. The fact that the ineptitude at acting possessed by the other man made it impossible to tell whether or not Nathanos was genuine or was hiding behind the reasonable expectations of those around him that he likely couldn’t hold a false narrative if truly pressed.

So when the Mage portal  had opened in the middle of the throne room-empty aside from himself and the guards-and the pair emerged-he couldn’t quite be certain with how quickly it closed again but it had looked to him as if Light’s Hope Chapel had been on the other side-a portion of the concerns piled upon him, at least, eased.

Mathias quickly looked the King over. From what he could tell he didn’t look particularly worse for where though perhaps a bit like he’d been drinking and, once again, was holding the little puppy in his arms.

Nathanos, for his part, appeared both damp and displeased and was hissing something unflattering about Paladins under his breath.

“King Anduin,” though the Priest would likely have preferred a day to recuperate from his travels, and Mathias would have preferred to grant him that if such were possible, he made his presence known and stepped forward. Folding his hands behind his back and ignoring the almost possessive glare Nathanos lobbed at him. “Your travels were productive, I take it?”

“They were indeed.” Anduin looked at the older man beside him. “I like to think, at least, that our visit to the Marris Stead has put a few painful things to rest. It’s my hope, Light willing, that we can finally make progress down the road to healing.”

The noise of dismissal that Mathias had expected from Nathanos didn’t come.

“The Eastern Plaguelands may have improved somewhat over the years of therapy which the Argent Crusade and Cenarion Circle have both given it the area is far from safe.” Mathias said. “You should have-.”

“I’m quite able, Shaw, to watch over him!” The viciousness in the Dark Ranger’s voice took him by surprise and Mathias almost jumped out of his skin. Nathanos had coiled into a defensive posture, a low growl building in his chest. Anduin quickly laid a hand over his massive bicep in an effort to calm him which met with only mild affect.

Mathias narrowed his eyes at the familiarity of the touch.

“It was perfectly safe I assure you.” Anduin said, hand still on the Dark Ranger’s arm; the longer it remained there the more of the ferocious anger ebbed away. “Nathanos took good care of me. I was never in danger for even a moment. You’d never guess it, but he’d quite proficient at cooking.”

The Blightcaller scoffed but couldn’t completely hide the smug satisfaction at the praise.

“I’d assume there’s something I need be made aware of, otherwise you wouldn’t be waiting for me here.”

Mathias nodded grimly. “While you were away, King Anduin, the Horde launched an attack on Tirigarde Sound.” He said. “There was, thankfully, little in the way of death and injury but the gunship which was in short order destroyed, did some considerable damage to the infrastructure surrounding Boralus.”

“Repairs are already underway?” Anduin asked, at once becoming all business. Shoulders going back and back straightening. Mathias didn’t miss the appreciative once over the Blightcaller gave him.

“Yes.” He said, concealing the disapproval on his face while the blonde was looking. “The Lord Admiral has also placed considerable emphasis on putting extra measures of protection into place.”

“I take it Jaina’s taken steps to bolster the defenses of the rest of Kul Tiras as well, knowing her?”

Mathias nodded. “Indeed.”

Anduin’s smile was taught at the corners. Even such a slight display of stress appeared to agitated the Blightcaller further, a low growl rumbling yet again from his broad chest. “It will be difficult with how thin our forces are already spread but I’ll dispatch a cadre to assist in doing so.” He said. “If that’s all, Mathias, I ought to start on the paperwork necessary to accomplish that.”

“Of course.”

Anduin dismissed him with a smile and turned towards the throne room’s inner door, the Dark Ranger not far behind, but though Mathias went through the necessary motions he didn’t have any intention of returning to SI:7 Headquarters in Olde Town. Instead, the Rogue slipped into the shadows and followed.

Anduin didn’t speak again as they walked and lowered himself behind his desk upon arriving in his study. Surprisingly, as the Priest rummaged around in the top drawer in search of a quill, it was Nathanos who broke the silence.

“This paperwork will take you most of the day?”

“More than likely. And no, before you ask. I won’t be leaving until I’ve finished, so you needn’t worry I’ll wander into trouble while you’re not breathing down my neck if there’s somewhere else you’d rather be.” His tone was playful. The Dark Ranger Lord rolled his eyes. “You said that you’d found a memento. If you don’t mind me asking…?”

Nathanos stared at him blankly for a long moment before, with great reluctance, removing something from the pack at his side and placing it on the desk. The badly tarnished coin glinted green in the sunlight that spilled through the windows.

“I don’t want to hear any dribble about ‘the Light’!” He growled as the Priest carefully lifted the coin and inspected it.

“Oh, if that’s the case we’ll just call it coincidence.” Anduin sounded rather smug. “Even though you yourself admitted that there wasn’t enough coincidence in the world to lead the coin your cousin threw into the Throndroril back to you.”

“Who’s to say it’s that coin, Wrynn?” he snapped.

“Who’s to say it isn’t? You certainly seem to think so.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You kept it.”

Nathanos snarled but didn’t protest and snatched the con back when it was offered, much to Anduin’s apparent amusement. “You’ll be done with this dross by evening, then?”

“More than likely. Why?”

“Because my work up at the cabin has progressed far enough that, though far from finished, it’s ready to play host to another…archery lesson.”

The King’s eyes darkened with what looked suspiciously like lust. “I’ll have everything shorn up and put to rights before dinner.” He dipped his pen into the inkwell in front of him. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

Nathanos answered with a grunt and exited the room. Breezing by Shaw without noticing him and continuing down the hall to his own chambers, which in truth had been almost entirely taken over by his three Plaguehounds.

By this point well aware of the breed’s ability to see through stealth, having been yapped at by Boots more than once while observing from the shadows, Mathias lingered outside the door. Catching it with his fingers just before it fully closed and peering through the resultant crack.

Grumbling about the rain, at least that was what he thought he was talking about as his grasp on Gutterspeak was little more than shaky, Nathanos stripped off his cloak and chainmail breastplate and peeled off the saturated leathers beneath. Dropping them onto the stone floor with a splat and ducking into the washroom, emerging with a towel and making an effort to put himself dry.

Boots had leapt up onto the bed with the two older hounds and engaged in an exchange of huffs and grumbled which appeared remarkably like a conversation.

“Spreading rumors?” the Blightcaller rumbled, appearing to seriously consider wearing his chainmail without leathers before reluctantly pulling on a dark button up instead.

Boots woofed and wagged her tail. Nathanos shook his head and removed his leg guards. Mathias averted his gaze before the leathers followed suit, quickly replaced with fitted pants.

“You misunderstand our relationship. We’re nothing of the sort. I’m not fond of him.” Strangely that last bit sounded more like he was trying, rather desperately, to convince himself more so than the-apparently talking-hound. “Not _that_ fond of him.”

A smug snort.

“You’re supposed to be on my side, damn it!”

Boots barked,

“No, you can’t be on _both_ sides! There wouldn’t _be_ sides if that were possible!”

A grumble.

“You sound like your mother!”

This wasn’t the first time Mathias had seen evidence that all Hunters were under the same delusion that they shared a telepathic bond with their animal companions, or at least held the capacity to understand them, but it was the most blatant by far.

Grumbling something more at the hounds which culminated in a gruff “stay here” Nathanos flung his cloak around his shoulders and stampeded from the room. Nearly trampling the Spymaster this time.

Pulling the deep cowl of the cloak up over his head to hide his face, the Blightcaller looked no less dark than he usually did even minus his ensemble of grim toned chainmail. The standing guards by now had acclimated to his presence enough that the only signs of their disquiet at his presence was a slight stiffening of their postures. Nathanos ignored them entirely, defiant pride in the set of his shoulders as he went.

Whether it was the darkness of his countenance or the icy distance emanating from him in waves the citizens on the streets outside avoided him as if he were diseased. Nathanos seemed to be perfectly fine with such an arrangement and barreled on. At last coming to a stop in the Trade District, once inside _The Diamond Seal._

Stormwind’s finest jeweler, Theresa Denman, looked up when he entered. No doubt used to dealings with shady figures of all varieties by now, what with all the years spent dealing with various adventurers. She didn’t so much as bat an eye while delivering a bright “hello. Welcome to the _Diamond Seal_. How can I help you today?”

“Are you able to string something on a chain?” he demanded. “I’d expect so, considering it’s a basic procedure for a jewel crafter to perform. Something even a Troll can manage.”

To her considerable credit Theresa’s smile didn’t falter in the slightest. “Of course; I can have it done in a few moments if you’d prefer?”

“I would. The sentimental value of the object in question leaves me more than merely reluctant to allow it into the hands of another.” He growled. “I haven’t much left of my family.”

He expression softened then. “May I recommend a chain with an unbreakable enchantment.”

“Name your price.” Nathanos grunted.

“15 silver.”

The Dark Ranger pulled up short. “The service of putting a hole in this coin ought to cost more than that, never mind the chain. Enchantments aren’t cheap!”

“Consider it a discount for your service to the crown, Blightcaller.” The hiss he made left it clear he hadn’t expected her to realize who he was. Her smile took on a hint of amusement. “The people here might be a bit unsettled by the undead, to say the least, but we’ve seen the dedication that you have to looking after the King.” ‘Dedication’ was certainly one way to put it. “Anduin is well loved within the Alliance, like his father before him, but it’s no secret that he’s a handful and a half. And that’s when he’s going easy.”

A dismissive grunt as he turned away, though for a moment Mathias saw a set of his features that almost looked like guilt, but it was gone before he could decipher it further.

“How long will this take?”

“A handful of minutes.” She said. “I can string it in front of you if you’d prefer.” Offered once his reluctance to part with the coin became clear. “Slightly longer if you’d like the tarnish removed?”

“No. Leave it as it is.” Almost defensive.

“Alright. I’ll have that done for you in just a moment.” Theresa did an admirable job of resisting the withering affects of Nathanos’ torching glare while she used a specialized tool the likes of which the Spymaster could never hope to name to bore a small hole into the coin before threading the chain-so thin it would be nearly unnoticeable against his thick neck-through and handing it over. “Here you are.”

Nathanos took the strung coin and examined it critically before slipping it over his head with a gruff grunt of thanks and handing over the coin. Business through with, he returned to the Keep to skulk in his chamber with his hounds.

Realizing his intention to remain there until early evening when whatever the term ‘archery lessons’ was a cover for would occur Mathias retreated to his own desk to see to his own work whilst keeping his eyes on the clock.

Arriving at the royal stables just after the setting sun had begun to paint the world with color only to realize that the King and his dour companion had already set out Mathias rushed to the aerie and saddled his mount. Working on the assumption of their destination and realizing the chance to properly follow them had passed his remaining option was to arrive before them and hide.

This was admittedly, going beyond his job description, not to mention rather out of bounds but as Theresa had mentioned Anduin was well loved within the Alliance. Not only by his people but by the personnel that served him. And he’d be damned if he allowed the Priest to be played with and broken the way that he had been. Because Light help them all if Anduin ever became that jaded.

He wouldn’t intervene directly, not this time, would scope the situation out and nothing more, but if the near certainly that the Blightcaller was taking advantage of the youth’s heartfelt feelings came to truth than Mathias would go to whatever lengths he had to in order to put a stop to it.

Even if that meant castrating the Dark Ranger.

The isolated cabin where Varian had retreated from time to time for bonding with his son years ago came into view below him. Mathias landed behind it and, after ensuring his mount was properly concealed in the tees, slipped inside.

The dust which had gathered in thick layers over the floor had been repeatedly disturbed by passing footsteps, all of which ultimately led to the closed door leading to the basement.

When last the Spymaster had seen the space it was nothing more than a-admittedly rather dungeon like-storage space littered with a couple of broken boxes. The sight that met him then, upon descending the steep and narrow stairs was anything but.

The first thing he noticed, much to his alarm, was the torture device in the middle of the room: a full-length wooden rack complete with thick steel shackles the cuffs of which, strangely, were heavily padded. Not far from it was an equally padded table with numerous fastening points along its edges. Against one wall beside a display of hanging whips and chains and a tray of unnamable metal and leather tools, stood a saltire cross. Secured to a sturdy iron hook which had been embedded in the ceiling was a cross-bar which looked as if it was meant to hold some sort of harness or chain.

Before his mind could fully process what the strange array of objects meant the sound of the basement door opening reached him. Two sets of footsteps starting down the stairs. Internally cursing Mathias vanished and retreated into the nearest shadowed corner.

Anduin was the first to come into view, an eager bounce to his step as he came to a stop halfway down before bounding the rest of the way and skipping to a stop beside the rack. The Blightcaller descending the stairs at a much more sedate pace, looking on at the blonde’s reactions with well-hidden interest.

Running his hands over the worn wood, Anduin turned wide blue eyes onto the older man. “Is this a rack?”

“100% authentic.” Nathanos rumbled proudly, puffing out his chest. “Taken from the torture chambers of the Scarlet Crusade. It’s a rather extreme venture but-.”

“Chain me?” Anduin had already hopped up onto the table and was treating Nathanos, who appeared rather miffed by the interruption, to pleading eyes.

The Blightcaller narrowed his own, taking the young King by the chin and shaking him lightly in reprimand. “As I was saying it’s a rather extreme venture as it’s one of two things currently in this room which, if taken too far, could result in permanent damage or death and I thereby reserve the right to call a stop at any point. Even without the invocation of a word on your part. And I’ll have no complaints on the matter: I’ve said before I’ve no desire to hurt you.” He funded sincere, at least. “Now, if that’s agreeable?”

“Of course! But we don’t have all night, ‘Than, and already have to travel back. _Please_ chain me and get on with it!”

The Blightcaller snorted, releasing his chin in favor of the lapels of his over coat. “Let’s get you a few layers less first, Anduin.”

“’A few layers less’ sounds marvelous.” Anduin purred, quite happily cooperative while Nathanos relieved him of his overcoat and then the button up below it.

“Better.” Nathanos purred, red eyes and cold fingers roving over the bare skin of the young King’s torso.

Anduin hummed, grinning and held out his hands. “I’m sure it is, but I think you missed a layer ‘Than.”

Nathanos didn’t immediately react to the invitation. Then, carefully, so much so that it took Mathias rather by surprise, took the young King’s smaller hands in his much larger ones and removed the leather gloves. Revealing the latticing of raised scars which crisscrossed the pale skin.

Running the pad of his thumb over the largest scar, Nathanos raised his hands-first his left and then his right-to his lips. Pressing a dry, cold kiss to each and every one that he could find, much to the blonde’s bemused surprise.

“’Than-.”

“I never want to catch you doing this, or anything like it, to yourself again.” A command, not a statement. To Mathias’ surprise, rather than bristle, Anduin just sighed.

“Like I told you before, I haven’t in years. It’s an old habit that won’t be coming back.”

“It’d better not.” Growled into the scarred flesh.

“It won’t. Unless you start hitting me for crying.”

The Blightcaller straightened abruptly, hissing. “You bit yourself to muffle tears?”

“That’s how it started.” He admitted, sighing. “But that’s not why we’re here, ‘Than.”

“I think lasting trauma is rather important!”

“At a time and place for unraveling it, I’d agree with you.” Anduin gently pulled his hands free from the larger man’s and wrapped his arms around his broad shoulders instead. Flashing a coy smile. “In fact, this particular place is where you’re supposed to bend me over and fuck me until I can’t see straight and will have remarkably trouble sitting on my horse.”

“Vulgar.”

“I do try.” The young King chuckled, releasing his grip on Nathanos’ shoulders and collapsing gracefully onto the rack. “Chain me?”

“Little siren.” A sultry growl, laced with real affection. Lifting one of the heavy iron chains and attaching the cuff to Anduin’s thin wrist with a final sounding clank, he moved on to the second wrist and then his ankles. All too soon the Priest had been chained down to the torture device and Mathias was left tense as he crouched in the corner.

“I’m sure you’re familiar with what I’m about to ask for.” Gripping and turning the heavy wheel with a resonant clatter, Nathanos removed the slack from the chains. “Words?”

Anduin rolled his eyes, shaking his head and smiling. “Blue and gold.” He said. “You never cut corners, do you ‘Than.”

“It’s the Dominant’s responsibility to care for and look after their submissive. I take my submission seriously.”

“A fact for which I’m grateful.”

“As I’ve already stated this is a dangerous piece of equipment. If you begin to feel even the least bit uncomfortable, you’re to tell me. And as this device isn’t one to lend itself to delicacy, blue and gold will have the same effect.”

“So, I should hold off using one for as long as possible?”

“Don’t you dare!” Anduin’s rollicking laughter echoed around the basement, rising above the Dark Ranger’s growl. “If I find out that you’re doing that, Wrynn, I’ll administer the sort of punishment you won’t enjoy!”

“Oh, I doubt anyone on Azeroth could be that inventive.”

“I’m versed in torture.”

Eyes dark with lust, Anduin bit his bottom lip. “Oh, I’m sure.” He said. “Stretch me?”

A turn of the wheel and the clatter of chains. Anduin let out a huff in surprise as the tightening rack jerked his arms and legs down.

“Alright?”

The young King took a moment to squint up at his shackles before he answered. “I can barely feel this. A bit tighter?” Another clatter as the Dark Ranger obliged. The Priest starting on the table. “Oh, th-that’s tight!”

Nathanos stepped away from the wheel and circled around the table’s other side. Gently turning Anduin’s face towards him and drawing him into a ferocious kiss which the King was happy to reciprocate. Whining and panting and tugging at his restraints as the Blightcaller began a steady progress of harsh bites and rough kisses down the side of his neck and over his shoulder.

The longer this went on the more uncomfortable Mathias became, but not only was he a hardened assassin determined to see the mission he’d set himself through to the end but he wouldn’t have been able to leave without alerting them to his presence. Not with the basement door being as loud as it was.

Chest and shoulders spattered with a liberal covering of blue-black bite marks and trussed down to the table all Anduin could do was arch against his bonds and whimper.

“Keep that up and I’ll be forced to tighten your bonds again.”

A drawn-out whine before Anduin huffed out a desperate “I don’t care what you, just do _something_!”

“Come now, Anduin! Surely a royal has better discipline.” Though he didn’t sound much better himself, red eyes taking in the ever-increasing tightness in the front of the King’s pants.

“Light damn it, ‘Than! Please!”

A low chuckle rumbling in his chest Nathanos circled back around to the wheel. Seeming to contemplate tightening it further before releasing the tension from the chains.

Anduin huffed and sat up, looking vexed. Nathanos ignored the mild glare, busying himself with the process of freeing the King from his bonds. “As stated earlier I reserve the right to call an end to the use of the rack even without the invocation of a safe word.” Nathanos said. “It’s too easy to wound you by pushing limits in this regard. Select another piece of equipment.”

“Oh, fine then.” Dismounting the table with a mild annoyance about him which only seemed to amuse the Blightcaller more, Anduin surveyed the room again before his gaze alighted on the cross-bar overhead. “What’s that for?”

“Harnesses and ties, specifically the Strappado that I promised you in past conversation.” Nathanos barely spared the cross bar a glance. “Though I’ll have to turn you away from that tonight as pairing the two most dangerous toys currently in this room back to back is, I think, a bit much.”

“Yes, mother.” Anduin grumbled, then yelped at the light swat which landed on his bottom.

“Mind your cheek.” The hand used to swat him remained where it had landed, slipping below the waistband of his pants and squeezing. “Need I remind you, Anduin, that during our play sessions you answer to me?”

“Oh,” the blonde purred, turning his head in search of a kiss he was only briefly allowed. “No reminders needed.”

“Good.” Nathanos growled, releasing him after yet another squeeze. “Now, choose.”

“What’s this for?” he indicated the padded bed.

“Dependent on your preference, it could be either a bondage bed or a whipping bench.”

“And I get my choice of whips?”

“I didn’t expect you to be so drawn to the concept of a beating.”

“Nor did I, really.” Anduin stepped around him, trailing a hand over Nathanos’ still clothed chest as he went. Strutting over to the selection of whips before taking down a stiff switch. “But I’m up to try anything at least once because I know you wouldn’t force me to repeat something I dislike.”

“Very well then.” Taking the switch, Nathanos used it to indicate the padded step on the side of the bed. “Kneel here.”

Anduin did as he’d been told and knelt on the indicated bench. Stretching out his arms when ordered to, allowing the larger man to secure his wrists to two of the fastening points with soft leather cuffs.

“You’re certain of this?”

“Yes.” There was a slight waiver in his voice, now, though it was impossible for Mathias to tell whether it was from nerves or arousal.

Light, if it weren’t for the iron command he’d gained over his body over the years the Spymaster-horrified as he was to admit something so utterly unprofessional-would have been considerably more affected by what was happening in front of him. Anduin was young and beautiful and, admittedly, it had been quite a while but that line of thought needed to be stopped immediately!

“Remember that you have your words.” Placing a kiss to the curve of the young King’s shoulder blade, Nathanos stepped back and swung. The strike was half armed, raised no higher than his hip, but the crack it made on contact still echoed around the room. Anduin sucked in a breath. His chest bumped against the edge of the bed in front of him. The pale skin where the switch had landed began to turn red.

Nathanos ran a gentle hand over the inflamed skin before he struck again. Taking care the second blow didn’t land in the same spot as the first, nor the third the same spot as the second.

Blow after blow fell onto the young King who’d gone slack against the sturdy bed. Arching into every blow. Moaning softly with each one that landed, though the sounds were clearly not borne from pain.

Finally, unable to retain the cool control he’d struggled to display throughout the whole of their encounter, Nathanos flung the switch against the wall and lifted Anduin bodily from where he was kneeling. Laying him out on the padded bed.

The loosened restraints allowed the blonde to once more wrap his arms around his shoulders. Submitting to a ravenous kiss as Nathanos fumbled with the shirt he wore before ripping it free with a snarl. Sending tiny buttons ricocheting across the room. The pants he had on met much the same fate moments later and he mounted the table. Anduin keened, arching as his leg was pushed up over the Dark Ranger’s shoulder and Mathias desperately sought anything else to look at but there was nothing he could do to block out the incriminating sounds, leaving little of what was happening to the imagination.

Finally, after a small eternity during which the Rogue was nearly reduced to praying to the Light for fortitude and with a last ferocious snarl the…unspeakable table abuse came to an end.

Anduin, looking somewhat stupefied by the strength of his pleasure, was drooling slightly and Nathanos had buried his teeth dep enough in his shoulder to draw blood. Sluggishly, freeing himself from the smaller male’s body in the process, Nathanos pulled away. Allowing the Priest to sit up.

“Wait here.” A gruff sounding command delivered just before heavy footsteps started up the stairs. Anduin, unaware that he was being observed, took the opportunity to stretch. Nathanos returned a few moments later with a bowl of water, a cloth and a small canister Mathias didn’t recognize. Setting the bowl beside him on the table, he said “wash yourself off while I see to your back.”

Anduin chuckled. “There you go again with your fixation.”

“Aversion.” Nathanos corrected. “It’s disgusting!”

“It’s a bodily fluid, ‘Than. Like blood.” Picking up the cloth and squeezing it out, Anduin carefully began to wipe himself down. “You don’t have a problem with blood.”

“My ‘problem’ with blood is of a different sort.” Unscrewing the lid of the container and revealing the pale salve inside. “Now, hold still.”

“Light! That’s cold!”

“Oh hush, you child!” He admonished, dipping his fingers back into the container. “A bit of cold is preferable to welts I’m sure.”

“Well…yes.” Anduin admitted with a small smile. “Let it never be said you don’t take good care of me.”

“You make out aftercare as some sort of foreign concept.”

“I’m not just talking about that.”

The Blightcaller scoffed. “This is about the rabbit.”

“You didn’t have to hunt for me. Or let me sleep on you.” Anduin said. “You’re good to me.”

“Don’t make the mistake of conflating that with being a good man.”

The young King spun around in his seat and flung his arms around the larger man’s shoulders before he could attempt to step out of reach. Nathanos went suddenly stiff, an expression of what almost looked like disturbed panic flashing across his face, and for a moment he didn’t react. Then, stiffly and still looking as if he wasn’t certain he was responding correctly, the Blightcaller wrapped his arms around the smaller male’s thin waist. Dropping his chin into his long golden hair.

“Just because you don’t believe something doesn’t mean it isn’t true.” He buried his face in the crook of Nathanos’ neck. “And maybe I just don’t care if you’re a ‘good man’ or not. I’ve…” Anduin’s cheeks tinted pink “come to care about you a great deal.”

One large hand made a gentle path up and down the Priest’s spine. “As have I.”

Though the look on his face made Mathias think it would have been easier for all of them if that weren’t the case, yet again tinted with a strange haze of what almost appeared to be regret.

“But I think we’ve tarried her for long enough, Anduin. It’s getting late and we wouldn’t want to give your Elf or one of the others reasons to concern themselves with where we’ve gotten off to.”

Anduin sighed and released him. “You’re right.” Sliding off the table, providing Nathanos with a view the Blightcaller took full advantage of as he bent down, the King went to collect his clothes and redressed. “You’ll be leaving me at the city gates, I take it?”

“Leaving you? By now, Wrynn, I thought you’d be aware that I can hide in plain sight.” He said. “The night shift of guards won’t see me in a state of half undress, shirt destroyed and pants nearly so, but it won’t be leaving you to their watch.”

“Oh yes. I haven’t forgotten your belief that my loyal guardsmen are-.”

“Incompetent to the man.” Nathanos said. “Any imbecilic assassin could do you in without me there to stop them.”

“And that’d be ill for your prospects.”

“Devil my prospects! You’re my concern!” It sounded painful for Nathanos to admit. “I’ve come to…feel things for you that are in defiance of my curse. And where I’ll never cease to love my Queen completely, I’m sure you’d be the first to tell you that even a black and shriveled heart like mine might have space for two.”

“Your former Queen.” A gentle correction.

Thin lips twitched. “Of course.”

Though Mathias wasn’t satisfied Anduin seemed to be and straightened the lapels of his overcoat. “I recall you once having told me that you didn’t have a heart to give.”

“I’d thought that the case at the time.” Nathanos said. “It would have been easier for all of us had that turned out to be true.”

“Is something ever worth it if it’s ‘easy’?” Grinning over one shoulder Anduin started up the stairs. Nathanos wasn’t far behind.

Left with very few answers and more concerns than he’d had at the outset Mathias followed them up.


	27. The Blightcaller's Choice

Nathanos had been irritable in the handful of days since their return from their first, and regrettably likely last proper ‘lesson’ up at the cabin and had only become more so as time dragged on and the goings on in Stormwind’s court drove the cogs of the Alliance War machine ever faster until it had outpaced his expectations. Rattling along and tearing up the earth before it as it dragged itself ever closer to the planned siege of the Zandalari empire. Drove the Dark Ranger Lord forward towards the inevitable assassination that he had no choice but to carry out in his Queen’s name. It left him bothered. So much so that the…rather strange behavior of the Spymaster every time he crossed their path-he could have sworn he’d seen Shaw _blushing_ at one point-had gone by barely noticed.

Anduin had spent the majority of that day as he usually did, trapped in his throne room by a frothing pack of Nobles held at bay only by Nathanos’ molten glare, and had then worked deep into the night splashing his signature across countless documents-sometimes without reading them-that had found their way across his desk before finally retiring. Nathanos had waited another hour after all sounds but for the young King’s even breathing had tapered off behind the door before he emerged from the shadowed corner where he’d been lurking.

Crossing the study on silent feet, the Dark Ranger Lord pushed open the door and slipped into the royal bedchamber. Picking his way across the stone floor until he stood at the bedside.

Anduin had nestled comfortably amidst the silken sheets and plush comforter, unaware of the danger that loomed above him as Nathanos drew the poisoned dagger from his belt and raised it. The deadly curve of the blade gleamed a cold silver in the faint moonlight.

In but a moment, it would all be over. The poisoned blade would pierce his chest. The pain would rip the Priest from his sleep. Those blue eyes would open, clouded by confusion and fear, only to be confronted with the reality of his betrayal. Perhaps he’d have time to ask him why, blood flecking pale lips, before the wound would take him. Another sin to mar his fractured soul.

The Blightcaller’s fingers tightened on the handle of the blade, his muscles tensed, but his arm wouldn’t move. Steeling himself, he tried a second time. Then a third. Finally, Nathanos was forced to admit a reality which could only be referred to as equal parts expected and horrifying.

He couldn’t do it.

Couldn’t bear to bring an end to the young man before him, never mind one so sudden and painful as he knew the envenomed blade of the dagger would bring. Sylvanas had tasked him with this mission and he knew that it was of critical importance, convinced of his capacity to succeed. He, too, had been convinced. Never would have agreed to undertake the matter otherwise. Safe in the notion that so long beneath the yoke of undeath had robbed him of any ability to develop real feelings for the Little Lion, even after the first signs of spring’s thaw had begun to show through. He’d thought himself a glacier, too thoroughly frozen, too cold, to be touched by any warmth. Let alone melted. No matter how strong it was. What a laughable notion, in retrospect: his own hubris had blinded him.

Nathanos had never disappointed his Queen before.

Turmoil and mental pain roaring up within the hollow of his chest like a frigid tempest, he turned away. Rushing back out of the Royal Chambers and onto the balcony. Vaulting over the side and landing with the resounding clank of mail boots on the cobbled road below. The shock of the landing in his legs barely registered. Had there been any guards nearby the sound would surely have alerted them but the Blightcaller wasn’t about to stick around for the benefit of prying eyes. Feet taking him forward with no input from his conscious mind, wrapped up as he was with wrestling with the seemingly impossible choice with which he’d been presented. Taking turn after blind turn. Not caring where he ended up, even if that ultimate destination was headfirst into one of the canals.

Ever since they’d met that day in the woods beside the Throndroril he’d been enamored with her. Would have done anything for her. Had done so, so many terrible things now in her name if not by her direct order. He’d loved her, when he’d lived. He loved her now. But the bloom of that rose had long withered. Perhaps it was unfair of him to think as much, especially knowing how much for her had been at risk, but the signs that she’d returned his feelings had never been as clear as he’d have liked.

After they’d fallen, she’d had more freedom but he’d stayed far away. He’d had his reasons. Shame having loomed large among them. And by the time he’d returned, after his body had been restored, so many days and months and years had passed that it didn’t matter anymore. Not really. Those feelings would always exist as desiccated shadows of what could have been, but their once potential could never be salvaged. And though she’d often reminded him of the fact she’d cared for him the words echoed hollow in the confines of his withered heart.

And then there was Anduin. Anduin, the near-to-witless at times, far too good for this or any other world Priest whom somehow managed to look at him and see a man not a monster. Even when he himself couldn’t. Who, even in his darkest moments, was never colder than a raging bonfire and didn’t seem to possess a cruel bone in him. A gold and blue ball of trouble whom frayed his nerves without breaking a sweat and had made himself so thoroughly at home in that damnable atrophied organ he hadn’t spared a thought to in years that it almost felt as if it had begun to beat again.

Sylvanas would always be a goddess in his eyes. Ethereal. Unmatched in her beauty. Untouchable in every regard. But Anduin, with his expressive blue eyes and mane of hair like sunlight, was a King. And a King, at his core, was a man. Just another man. Like him. An equal at who’s side he’d never have to feel unworthy.

He couldn’t disappoint his Queen. He couldn’t abandon his mission. He couldn’t truly cut his ties with the Horde and remain there in Stormwind. But he couldn’t betray Anduin so completely. Not now, after everything. He was teetering on an edge; aware his balance wouldn’t last much longer and that he had to choose the side he’d fall to before sunrise. Either way the landing would hurt. It would hurt a great deal. Nathanos couldn’t remember the last time he’d made a decision so world shattering by himself.

It had probably been before he’d fallen; months if not years before his doomed effort to defend his family had led to his death and the Marris Stead and the curse he’d been left with.

He’d stopped walking now, the realization of the sudden lack of motion shaking him from his distracted reverie. Red eyes focused in on the monument before him, rising straight and black into the night around him; he had to blink a few times in quick succession before the reality of the location he’d ended up in clicked in his head.

The graveyard behind the Cathedral in the center of the city. The monument before him was the Third War Memorial.

His first thought was to leave, this was the last thing he needed to be dealing with now with so much already on his mind, but not for the first time his body rebelled against his wishes. Stepping forward instead of away. Hand falling to the smooth stone face. Taloned fingers skimming down the list of names until he found his own.

“Nathanos Marris.” He’d tried so hard to convince himself that Marris was dead. That the Blightcaller was a different person. Since he’d been forcibly ripped from a pool of his own blood before it had even had the chance to go cold by the Lich King’s powers, he’d succeeded. Or, at least, he’d thought he had. When Anduin had first brought him to this place, shown him the scrawl of Common runes which had once been his given name, the only thing he’d felt had been annoyed disgust. Now, it an ache set into his chest instead. An urge to reclaim something that he’d lost and never realized he’d desperately wanted back until the young King’s light had forced away the darkness that he’d clung to setting in with such force it was physically painful.

The tempest within him ebbed away, and much like the leaves and branches torn from trees as a storm passed the turmoil settled into cold resolve. ‘We all have our own paths to redemption’ was what Anduin had told him. Nathanos knew what his first step onto that path would be.

Turning from the proud form of the memorial the Blightcaller made his way back out of the graveyard and onto the city’s streets. Able to navigate the lanes and bridges with a steady calm in stark contrast to the roiling emotion which had raged within him just minutes before. Ignoring the sideways looks he received from the guards who’s path he crossed as well as the way they made hasty points of pressing themselves against the nearest buildings while he passed. Descending the steps of the Harbor and negotiating the longest pier to its end. Casting red eyes out over the water.

The silver light of the waning moon reflected off the rippling surface. Off in the distance, out passed the lighthouse perched atop an island at the harbor’s mouth, the dark form of a Kaldorei ship glided across the horizon. The only sound other than the wind was the lapping of the ocean against the barnacled pylons below.

Nathanos looked down at the blade in his hand, the agonizing toxin lacing the pitiless metal lending its curve a sickly hue. The sharkskin grip wrapped around the hilt was worn beneath his fingers, fraying down by the pommel.

He steadied himself with a deep breath of unneeded air, the expanse and contraction of his chest in response filling him with a measure of comfort, tinted with nostalgia. Allowing him the last needed moment to collect the confidence to speak alongside his resolve, even knowing his only witness was the moon.

Nathanos drew back the arm that held the dagger and, with all the force he could muster, flung the weapon out into the harbor. Hearing the faint splash as it sank beneath the waves.

He hoped it reached the Great Sea’s darkest depths, never to be found.

“I’m sorry, my Queen.” The rumble of his voice barely rose above the susurrus of the waves. “Your Champion is dead.”

He’d fallen and he’d landed, and though the time would soon come for him to assess the damage, to admit the truth to Anduin and consign himself to his mercy, he felt as if he’d been freed. As if the shackles to chains he hadn’t realized he’d been bound in had unlocked and fallen away.

He’d never cease to love Sylvanas, but Nathanos now realized that what he’d really wanted when he’d pledged to follow her into hell was for him to tell him not to.

Leaving the harbor behind, the Dark Ranger Lord pathed back to Stormwind Keep. Easily avoiding the royal guards, stationed out in the courtyard and on the grounds and scaling the wall up to the balcony he’d leapt from. Slipping silently back through the folding glass doors and the inner door of the bed chamber beyond. Creeping once more across the room and delicately shifting his weight onto the mattress. Mindful of the clink of his mail and the movement of the scattered sheets so as not to wake its occupant as he lowered his weight beside him. Pulling Anduin to his chest and tucking his face into the back of his neck. Not daring to breathe while so close to the living flesh the curse within him craved but allowing himself the guilty pleasure of the contact. The touch of silken skin and the young man’s warmth. Anduin made a sleepy noise of protest as being disturbed from the divot in the mattress his weight had settled into but didn’t wake and soon comfortably resettled against the older man’s broad chest.

Nathanos couldn’t allow himself to be caught like this, the change would be far too abrupt to pass without question-as much as Anduin would no doubt be pleased-and he wasn’t quite ready to face his confession yet. Which meant he’d have to leave before the Priest woke the next morning but he’d allow himself those few hours to linger in that almost preternatural calm which still clung to him like an afterglow, even aware as he was that the path he’d chosen would be doubtless to lead him up the side of a mountain.

The sky had begun turning pink outside the window by the time he pulled himself away, exiting the room with one last glance over his shoulder at the young monarch and slipping back into the shadows to avoid the notice of the guards. He returned to the room in the Keep that he’d been given when he’d first arrived in Stormwind, sparing a brief glance in the direction of the bed expecting to find his hounds asleep only to discover all three of them sitting up and staring at him with judging eyes.

“Go to sleep you monsters!” He forced himself not to falter at the sight and continued to the desk. Opening the top most drawer and beginning to forage for a quill and parchment. “We’re not going anywhere. Not at the moment, at least.”

Boots, clearly the leader of the rabble in spite of her fractional size, snorted at him in a clear demand for information.

“Asleep and unharmed.” Half distracted, he dipped the quill he’d found into a nearby inkwell and began to scrawl out a hasty request. “I threw the dagger into the harbor. It’s lost now.” Finished with his work, he dropped the quill unceremoniously onto the wooden desktop. Scattering tiny droplets of ink but not caring. Nathanos impatiently waved the parchment about in an effort to dry it faster before he folded it crisply. Turning back towards the door and pointing at the nest the hounds had made out of the sheets and pillows as he passed. “Bed!”

He didn’t wait to see if his order was obeyed and swept from the room, down the hall and out of the Keep once more. This time uncaring whether or not he was seen and by whom. Charting a path towards the aviary. Forcing down the horror and disgust at the sight of the creatures for long enough to seize the nearest falcon and roughly attach the missive to its leg. Lobbing it unceremoniously into the air immediately afterwards and sparing a brief moment to watch the frazzled bird fly away.

The Blightcaller had no way of knowing how long it would take to receive a response, never mind a means of being certain said response would be agreement, if the bastard even bothered getting back to him at all. In the meantime, he supposed, his time was best served seeking out whatever information on the matter that he could.


	28. Asking Questions

Anduin had woken up the next morning displaced from his usual position and with a rather conspicuous depression in the mattress to the other side of him which lacked the traces of heat it would have held had it been caused by his body, but whomever had created it-not that that list was overly long-was long gone by the time that he awoke and had left no other traces of their presence behind. Nathanos had been absent from his customary place lurking in the corner of the study, nor had he found him in his own chamber when he’d gone looking. Though he did find Boots, along with Bleak and Goliath, who’d immediately greeted him with excited whines and whimpers as if he’d been gone for years.

The hounds, at least, had kept him company through breakfast, court and lunch. When midday rolled around and still Nathanos had not returned, hadn’t made himself known even briefly, Anduin could no longer contain the worm of worry which had begun eating away at the lining of his stomach. Unable to concentrate further on his paperwork and with the beginnings of a headache building behind his eyes, the young King huffed out a sigh and set his quill aside. Massaging his temples with gloved fingers in an effort to make the pain go away, to no avail.

He’d accepted a long time ago, at this point, that his feelings for the Dark Ranger Lord went far beyond mere attraction now. But he hadn’t realized, until now, how used to his presence almost constantly at his side he’d become. Without Nathanos there, radiating the stern assuredness of an ice statue yet capable of moments of softness which were almost strange when juxtaposed against his normal demeanor, he felt…exposed?

Which, while safely in the heart of Stormwind surrounded by his loyal guardsmen, was patently ridiculous. It was also, he supposed, normal to a certain point. When you loved someone, after all, you wanted to be near them.

Sighing again and giving up the effort to massage the headache away Anduin turned instead to liquid means. Lifting Boots gently from his lap and placing her on the floor beside him, he rose from his chair and crossed the room to the spirit’s cabinet. Pulling open the doors to peer at the variety of contents inside.

“Alcohol already, little brother?” her voice from behind him almost sent the Priest forward into the array of bottles. “It’s barely passed noon.”

“Light, Valeera!” Pressing a hand to his chest, over his racing heart, he turned to face her with a reproachful glance. “Just because you’re a Rogue you don’t have a license to sneak up on my all the time!”

The Blood Elf’s attempt to look contrite was ruined by the mirth in her fel green eyes. “Sorry. I thought you heard me.” Looking down at Boots, she said “some early warning system you are.”

The Plaguehound sneezed.

“And yes, to answer your question. Alcohol already.” Selecting a High Elven Cognac, he lifted down the crystal bottle. “I have a headache.”

“Just be careful not to drink too much of that and make yourself worse.”

“I know my limits in this much.” He poured the amber liquor into a squat glass and took a swig before settling behind his desk. The smooth drink burning its way pleasantly down his throat. “Have you seen Nathanos today?”

“Earlier this morning, actually, before sunrise. Though I don’t think he saw me. Seemed to be in a bit of a hurry. Had a letter in his hand.” She said. “From what I could tell he was his usual self: all sunshine and roses and dead puppies.”

“Leera.”

“I’m sorry, Anduin, but I’ll never understand what you see in him.” She propped her hip against the corner of the desk and crossed her arms. “Going to ask what that letter was about when you see him next?” Anduin shook his head, taking another drink and refilling the glass before corking the bottle again. Valeera raised one long, golden eyebrow. “Why not?”

“Because who he’s in correspondence with isn’t information I’ve any expectation of being privy to.” His voice was roughened by the drink as he returned to his paperwork. “If he choses to tell me so be it. If not…”

“What if it was a letter to Sylvanas?”

Blue eyes flicked up to meet her gaze, looking stern. “I think he’d have chosen a more covert method of communication if that were the case.”

The Rogue in front of him made an unsatisfied noise, her left ear flicking in annoyance. “Do you think you’ve made progress or does he still want you dead?”

Anduin sighed, opening his mouth to reply, but before he could a loud knock sounded on the door and both of the room’s occupants looked over.

“King Wrynn.” The gruff voice of one of the guardsmen stationed outside his door. “Princess Greymane wishes to speak with you.”

Tess? Setting his quill aside for a second time, he called back “thank you. Let her in.”

Valeera sighed as the door swung open, looked at him almost sternly and said “we’ll finish this conversation later” before vanishing.

The Priest barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“Was that Valeera?” the other Rogue asked as she stepped into the room. “She didn’t have to leave.”

“She’ll be back to interrogate me later, mark my words.” And, Light above, he knew it was true. “What can I do for you?”

“I know that father has been a bit more aggressive, recently, with pushing you to get married. Or, at least, to get engaged.” Tess said. “He’s scouting out new prospects now, though I don’t think he’s quite found any leads yet. I thought you might appreciate the warning.”

Anduin groaned, lowering his head briefly back into his hands. “Thank you, Tess.”

“I also thought you might appreciate the fact I might have found a solution to your problem.”

He looked up at her, head tilted slightly to one side. “What do you mean?”

“If not for the fact that I know my father would refuse, being aware of my proclivity but not away of yours, I’d offer to step up. Of course, I think I’ve told you that before.”

Anduin couldn’t contain the small smile which spread across his face. “You have.” He said. “And I think I’ve thanked you for it before.”

“You have.” She said. “You remember Lucille Waycrest?”

“Of course, the leader of the Order of Embers in Drustvar.” Anduin said. “What of her?”

“Like you, she’s a noble and the last of her line with people behind her that want to see some means of continuing it secured.” Tess said. “And, like you, she isn’t in a position to ever love the person that she marries. Because the man she was supposed to marry, whom she did love, was murdered on their wedding day. In front of her.”

Anduin felt a stab of pity in his chest. “Oh, Light.” He said. “I can’t imagine.”

“I think she’s your best bet, Anduin, though I’d advise you be up front about matters with her.”

“Matters?” he blinked.

Tess looked at him in a way which made it clear she wasn’t terribly impressed. “I was well aware that you were gay a long time before the Blightcaller ended up in Stormwind, but it wasn’t obvious you were together until I found him flapping around in the forest like a crazed Owl Beast yelling at an oak tree about how some ‘Kul Tiran bint’ could never satisfy you like he did even if you did end up having to marry them.”

Anduin’s face turned a bright shade of red. “I hadn’t pegged him as the type to…”

“Yell at trees?” Tess shrugged. “Me either, but I suppose one never can be sure.”

“I guess not.”

“I’m not going to comment on your taste in men, I’ve had to listen to Lorna do it for the past two hours, but I will say that he’s not a bad catch as far as the Forsaken go.” She was trying, and mostly failing, to conceal a grin. “Bottom jaw still on. All his limbs. No clearly visible maggots or holes.”

“Tess!” The young King was sure he’d turned even redder. “I’ll have you know that he’s perfectly intact and doesn’t have any not clearly visible holes or maggots either!”

Her grin was now almost painfully wide. “I’m glad you found someone who makes you happy.” She sounded genuine. “Would you like me to speak to Lucille for you?”

If things had been entirely up to him Anduin would have continued ducking the need to for marriage indefinitely, but he knew that wasn’t possible. At least he knew of Lucille, liked her well enough from what he’d seen during their short time together, and this way Genn would be satisfied enough that he’d stop throwing noblewomen at him like grenades.

Opening the top drawer of his desk, he pulled out a piece of parchment. “Here. I’ll send you along with a letter.” It ended up as more of a scrawl than the practiced hand befitting someone of his rank, but Anduin couldn’t find it in himself to care. Satisfied that what he’d produced accurately explained enough of the matter to be passable without exposing anything unseemly in the event I fell beneath the eyes of someone that it wasn’t meant to, he folded it, stamped it with the royal seal of House Wrynn and handed it over to her.

“Thank you for this.” He said. “Really.”

“Of course.” Tess took the letter and slid it into the pack at her hip. “I figured there’s enough on your plate as it is without this on top of it all.”

Anduin knocked back the remainder of his drink. “You’ve no idea.”

“So,” her smile tinted more amused “how’s tall dark and surly?”

“Missing from his usual post.”

“And his absence, clearly, is noticed.”

Anduin sighed. “I’m just…used to him being here.” He gestured vaguely at the empty space behind his chair, usually occupied by their topic of conversation. “Of, at least, used to knowing where he is while he isn’t somewhere nearby.”

The Rogue shook her head. “Well, the Blightcaller’s clearly a dog person but he certainly seems to have a smitten kitten on his hands.”

The Priest scrunched up his expression in a futile effort to hide his blush. “As if you’re any better about Lorna!”

“Never said I was.” Tess was unphased. “But I think I’ve teased you enough for one day.”

“I’d agree.” There was a well-hidden sour note to his tone.

Laughing, his friend said “I should be getting back before father has reason to be concerned; when I’d expect his meeting with the High Priestess, and the Lord Admiral will keep him busy for a while, I wouldn’t put too many gold coins on it.”

Genn was meeting with Jaina and Tyrande? Shaking his head, Anduin quickly pushed the curiosity away; as much as he’d like to ask more on the matter, he still had paperwork to complete and his headache hadn’t quite gone away. “Safe travels.”

“Good luck with that paperwork. And Mr. Dark Ranger.” She said. “I’ll send Lucille’s reply along as soon as I have it.”

Murmuring another half-annoyed farewell and making yet another failed effort to chase off the persistent migraine, the frazzled young monarch did his best to focus his attention back on his work.

 

Jaina had no idea how, but at some point, she’d managed to forget how ridiculously stressful having anything to do with most of the leadership of the Alliance could be. It was bad enough having to contend simultaneously with the fallout of Ashvane’s duplicity and the resurgence of the Drust alongside the rampaging threat of the Horde under the Dark Lady’s leadership, but add in Genn Greymane-overly protective of Anduin in much the same vein as Varian had been, abrasive at times with his insistence on his view of what was right and proper which in itself was mired in many of the narrow traditionalisms common to the Northern Kingdoms-perhaps understandably convinced that Sylvanas and those close to her were indescribable as evil-and Tyrande Whisperwind-she’d never gotten along terribly well with the fierce Priestess of Elune, owing largely to the fact that she was a Mage and had once dared to consider an Orc among her friends, and had preferred to avoid her-and what one found themselves left with, Jaina felt certain, was the alchemical formulation for how to make her head explode.

The only reason she could possibly recall for ever having agreed to such a meeting was an inability to find some means of weaseling her way out of it. Though now, as the last few seconds before their meeting was set to begin, whilst waiting for the Night Elven ruler to arrive and trying desperately to ignore the Human-shaped Worgen’s heavy gaze, the Lord Admiral found the prospect of teleporting to Stormwind and attempting to hide becoming more and more tempting with every passing moment. Not as much behind Anduin as behind the presence of his ‘body guard’ whose mere being there would either ward the pair off or draw them in like sharks to blooded water, adding the caustic Forsaken into the mix for good measure.

On second thought, it was likely better she remained in Boralus and attempted to keep her patience (as well as some semblance of what could pass for sanity). The Blightcaller, if given the chance, would likely only compound her problems by solving the matter with a hail of arrows.

Wishing she’d had the forethought to procure a headache reliever on her way there, Jaina silently resolved that if matters were to get out of hand, she’d put them both on ice. Consequences be damned.

The former Arch Mage felt the shift in the air at the same time Genn did, the Worgen’s yellow tinted eyes locking onto the doorway of Jaina’s office in Proudmoore Hold, and looked up. Flanked on either side by a pair of hawk-eyed sentinels, her black eyes as sharp as volcanic glass, Tyrande swept into the room.

“You requested my presence, King Greymane?” her voice was tense and harsh. “I must ask you make this quick; where you’re fortified our position considerably since the Siege of Darkshore the Horde still attempts to press us almost daily. I’m needed back in Bashal’aran.”

“I’m aware, Tyrande, and I wouldn’t have called on the both of you if this matter weren’t urgent.” Genn seemed to only marginally contain the urge to pace. “I turned to the both of you because you’re the ones in the Alliance’s leadership I can most trust, either to see that serpent as what he is, what he always will be, regardless of his claims or the care about Anduin enough to want to go out of your way to see him kept safe.”

The Night Elf’s eyes narrowed, perhaps at the unintended insinuation that she didn’t care for Anduin’s well-being, but said nothing.

Yes, Jaina realized resignedly, this definitely wasn’t going to be a pleasant conversation. “This wouldn’t be the first time Anduin’s made judgements of people which at the outset appear…odd. He’s never wrong, in the end.”

“He’s never dealt with someone like the Blightcaller!” Genn snapped. “Despite both of their denials, I _know_ what I smelled on him Jaina! Scents don’t mingle like that just by being in close proximity! He’s being taken advantage of, and in the worst way possible! Being forced-.”

“Forced?” Jaina cut in, rather sharply. She wasn’t one to step up and bat for Nathanos, of all people-frankly, she’d rather not have him near her adopted nephew either-but the whole idea was patently ridiculous. Not in the least because a Priest of Anduin’s power could have vaporized an undead easily at close quarters were he ever of a mind. “What in the Light makes you think he’s being forced? It’s difficult for me to understand why it seems to be such a foreign concept, in your mind, that Anduin might willingly have lain with him when your daughter has been openly in a serious relationship with Lorna Crowley for the entire time I’ve known you!”

The aged Worgen spluttered, looking as if he’d been whacked over the head with a mallet. “Anduin isn’t gay!”

The look the Mage gave him then wouldn’t have looked out of place on the Dark Ranger they were currently discussing. “Quite the contrary. He’s just aware of his position and the responsibility it leaves him with to the point where he’s forced himself to live a life as what he isn’t for the sake of his people. Even when taking a male consort in addition to a Queen wouldn’t be impossible, nor without precedent in his line! I’ve known since he was around 13; he couldn’t tell Varian but he needed someone to talk to. To assure him it was normal.”

“Normal?” Genn sounded aghast. “It’s not his fault he was born a deviant and I’d never hold such a thing against him, Jaina, but that is _not_ normal!”

Jaina had to restrain the urge to blast the aged monarch with a frost bolt.

“The only deviance in having a preference for one’s own gender is born of Human tradition!” Much to her surprise, Tyrande sounded equally displeased. “There is, however, a great deal of deviancy in the mere suggestion of anyone taking a corpse to bed! This needs to be looked into, as he could well be compromised considering the Blightcaller’s ‘repentance’ is an act and nothing more!”

“I think it’s premature to assume that _Nathanos_ is gay, considering his history with Sylvanas!” Yet there had definitely been something between them. Something more than the pact of protection they’d claimed had been made. She’d seen it in the way Anduin’s cheeks had tinted pink in the other man’s presence. In the relentless posturing Nathanos had engaged in whilst anywhere near both Talia and Lucille, much like a feral beast attempting to ward off rival suitors of its chosen prospective mate. In the possessive hunger which had flared, from time to time, in those unnatural sanguine eyes.

“Yet another Human assumption, Lady Proudmoore.” The Kaldorei snapped. “One is never bound to one side or the other. There are always exceptions. Special circumstances. Its simply a matter of rarely finding them.”

“The only ‘special circumstance’ here is that the Blightcaller is preying on him!” Greymane snapped. “The mere suggestion that my boy and a _Forsaken_ could be in a willing carnal relationship, let alone _in love_ is preposterous and disgusting! Nathanos is evil!”

Jaina shook her head. “Jumping to conclusions will only drive Anduin away.” She said. “We need more information before we can really know what’s going on between them, if anything is. And if it’s a threat.”

“Are you volunteering, Proudmoore?” Tyrande snapped.

“I think it might be best. Those Plaguehounds are bred to see through stealth, and that’s not even to speak of the Blightcaller’s own abilities; a Rogue would be expected and ferreted out with enough ease that it wouldn’t be worth it to send one in. But I doubt he’d expect a Mage.” Jaina said. “I’ll look into matters further in the coming days. See if I can catch them together when they think they’re alone. You’ll be the first to know if I do find anything.” Naturally, the obvious dismissal wasn’t enough to get either of them out of her office in a timely manner so it appeared Jaina would have to remove herself from the situation. “My presence is required in the…Dampwick Ward. The local albatross population has gotten out of hand and it’s high time _someone_ dealt with them.”

It was work considerably below her station, which Jaina had no real intent of personally seeing to, but at this point any excuse to make herself scarce before she left her tenuous grip on her remaining patience was a welcome one.

In a flash of violet light, she teleported away before either could protest.

 

As lacking as his desire was to have any association with such-in his view pointless-places Nathanos was none the less forced to admit that an entire morning spent glaring at the cathedral much to the discomfort of the paladin who frequented the fountain just outside, had amounted to absolutely nothing and that, more than likely, if he wanted any semblance of answers, he’d have to go inside. Not just go inside but willingly engage a witless Paladin in a conversation of reasonable length.

Provided the High Exarch of the Army of Light had the necessary decency to even be present at all!

If Turalyon wasn’t there, and he had to go hunting for him across the Eastern Kingdoms if not all of Azeroth, once he did find him and had finished interrogating him, he’d shoot him. Simply for the inconvenience of it all.

Growling to himself and earning the wary glances of several passers by for his trouble, the Dark Ranger Lord left the wall against which he’d been leaning and trudged across the square. Mounting the steps one by one as if he were headed towards a funeral.

Though whether that funeral was his own or someone else’s had yet to be seen.

Stormwind’s cathedral looked no different than it had the first, and only, time he’d been there. On the day that he’d accompanied the young King. Dark, lit only by the hundreds of tallow candles spaced throughout the cavernous room and the cathedral’s many dust capped stained glass windows. The air had a stale quality as it hung hot and heavy against his skin, thick with the scent of standing water and christening oils. A small handful of people were scattered in the pews, heads bowed in prayer, a few with scriptures in their hands. None noticed him. Likely for the better.

Nathanos’ red eyes scanned the large room in search pf any sign of the High Exarch’s gaudy Draenic plate but found nothing. His vision drifting instead, almost of its own accord, over the white and golden robes of the clergy and up to the windows. Settling, at last, on the largest window set into the back wall of the cathedral.

A starburst patter of beautifully crafted glass, tinted in rich tones of opal, garnet, emerald and a shade of blue that almost matched Anduin’s eyes depicting a dove with a spring of olive in its beak. Nathanos hated birds, the mere image should have been enough to move him to seizing the nearest candlestick-heavy and plated in gold-and lob it through the glass, and yet something about this depiction in particular was…soothing?

A woman’s voice, colored with surprise, tore him from his musing. “B-Blightcaller?” he blinked and looked down only to find the High Priestess, Laurena, staring at him from a safe distance away. “What is it that’s brought you to the cathedral?”

“I’m looking for that fool, Turalyon.” Nathanos snapped, bottled up irritation clear as day in his voice. He hadn’t seen Anduin since he’d left him, still asleep, earlier that morning. Desperately wanted to. Could feel his absence like withdrawal. But couldn’t face him. Not yet. And that fact left him irate. “I require only his location and I’ll be well away from here!”

“The High Exarch?” the woman repeated. “Last I knew, he was down in the baptismal chamber with Lady Alleria. A bit of time alone to speak.”

“Oh yes, I’m sure that speaking is all they’re doing.” Admittedly it wouldn’t have been on his own personal list of go to locals for such activities, but after his own experiences with Anduin he wouldn’t put any kink passed a Light wielder. Even sacrilege. “My business is with the Paladin alone but I’ll _suffer_ the Void Elf if I must.”

Without another word, the Blightcaller pushed his way passed the High Priestess and continued deeper into the cathedral. Soon locating the doorway which led him down to the floor below and the baptismal chamber which dominated the area.

The font set into the floor was the size of a small pond, the darker stone which paced it veined in gold and silver, and though the water within didn’t emit the blinding aurum or argent glow that the Moonwells of the Kal’dorei or the Sunwell itself did he could sense, in the fizzle of power in the air, that the innocent looking liquid was more than simple water.

Nathanos edged cautiously forward towards it. Wary-having seen what Holy Water, even highly dilute, could do to the undead-but feeling as if something in that Holy power perhaps even the very element of it which was so repellent to his curse, was calling out. Tugging him forward. Burning in the open fissures in his soul like antiseptic in an open wound.

The lip of the pool was slightly raised over the level of the floor, reaching just above his shin, and when the smooth stone met his legs the strange draw of the pool tugged him forwards. Kneeling on the rim, the Blightcaller found his gaze drawn downward into the pool.

He found his reflection stretched across the placid water translucent against the bottom of the pool, but the eyes which blinked back at him weren’t the cursed red they were now, nor the milky pale of his original sorrier state, or even the dark brown they’d been in life. He’d seen that blinding gold only a few times before; shedding like sparks from the runes carved along the Ashbringer’s blade, making up the searing feathers of the wings of a Paladin’s Avenging Wrath, comprising the gleaming shell which Anduin had conjured above the Alliance army during the Siege of the Undercity.

He stared. Transfixed. Confused. Unresisting of the continued tug which had drawn his hand down and forward. Reaching fingers millimeters away from breaking the blessed water’s surface.

“With your condition, Blightcaller, I wouldn’t touch that.” Turalyon’s voice issued from a ways behind and to the right of him.

Nathanos leapt to his feet as if he’d been scalded, his confusion mounting further as to how he hadn’t noticed the plat clad bear of a man approach him as it joined annoyance in rattling like angered bees inside his skull. Turning on them, Alleria standing just to her husband’s left observing him with clear distrust, he bared his teeth like a feral dog.

“I don’t need your cautioning, Paladin!” What had that draw been? Nathanos didn’t know, and were he being honest he’d have admitted that on some level it frightened him. “I’m here for information and the sooner you provide me with it the sooner I can be on my way.”

“I’m not even certain if I can tell you much of anything of the sort I’d expect you to be interested in, Blightcaller.” That comment sounded more like it had been made out of surprise instead of spite.

“Wrong! I’m interested in the Lightforged.” Nathanos snapped, a shock of ferocious satisfaction at the look of surprise on the other man’s face in response. “More specifically how it is you came to be Lightforged, the process of it, and how such a thing is possibly achieved by one of the Undead.”

Alleria’s ears perked forward and then pinned back. Her eyes narrowing. Turalyon looked bewildered. “Becoming Lightforged is the will of the Na’aru. Of Xe’ra, specifically, and with her destruction at the hands of the Betrayer,” a dark shadow, like a cloud over the sun, passed across his face. “I don’t know if Lightforging is even possible any longer. As far as your other question goes, the Undead can’t.”

“Tell that the Menethil!”

“That was a wholly different circumstance, and I don’t know if I’d truly call her Lightforged.” The High Exarch said. “Calia Menethil was reanimated by the Na’aru Saa’ra, through King Wrynn as a conduit. She was not undead prior to that. Not saddled with the taint of that curse. Lightforging, for the living, is incredibly dangerous. You must be incredibly strong to undergo it and survive. Were one of the undead, good or otherwise, to attempt such a thing they’d be turned to ash.”

Nathanos felt one of the smaller muscles in his face twitch. Closing his eyes in an effort to control it, he hissed out a sigh through his nose. “Congratulations, Turalyon.” He snarled, turning away. “You’ve exceeded my expectations regarding your uselessness!”

Casting a last glance into the pool beside him only to find nothing but red eyes looking back at him, the Blightcaller stalked up from the lower floor and fled the cathedral entirely.

The sun had almost fully disappeared below the horizon, now, and in its wake the sky had been left stained a faint shade of lilac. Anduin had likely sat down to dinner by now. He’d finish, soon, and set to an evening round of paperwork before, if his work load permitted, retiring with a book and a drink beside a fire.

He was worried over his absence, no doubt. The thought of that reality made something deep within him squirmed within his chest. Nathanos would have been thoroughly pleased by nothing more than to steal into the Royal Chambers right then and there, sweep the damnable paperwork onto the floor and take him on the sturdy desk. Lay claim to every inch of him. Revel in his living warmth. His honest affection in spite of what he was. To give in, at last, when he asked him to stay.

But he couldn’t. Not yet. Wouldn’t go to Anduin again until it was time to confess his crimes, his lies, and beg forgiveness that he didn’t deserve. To indulge before than would only increase the feelings of betrayal the Priest was certain to suffer. The pain he’d be put through when what had grown between them shattered like glass against the ground.

Nathanos’ hope had been to use the wait for a response as an excuse for putting off the disastrous encounter but when he trudged back to his Chambers and pushed open the door it was to discover the room already occupied. Anduin, pinned to the bed by the three hounds, splayed across his lap, was seated on the foot of the bed and looked up when the door opened. Relief easing the tension from the plains of his face.

“’Than.” He said. “There you are!”

“My Liege.” The urge to go to the smaller man crashed over him like a tide, lifting the Blightcaller briefly onto the balls of his feet before he settled onto his heels again. “What are you doing in here?”

“Waiting for your return. I was worried.” Extricating himself from beneath the hounds, much to their grumbled displeasure, Anduin rose and flitted to the desk. Picking up the envelope which had been sitting on the desk. “Oh, and this came for you. I didn’t open it, or even check who it was from, but figured you’d appreciate someone else handling the falcon.”

Oh, yes. The damnable feathered beast he’d had to use to send the letter on. At the mention of it a shudder passed through him, the sight of which caused Anduin’s smile to widen. Nathanos took the letter and unfolded it, red eyes scanning the contents.

Mostly platitudes, very little substance. Ending with an invitation to meet in Dalaran on the enclosed date. Decidedly less than pleased he narrowly resisted the urge to shred it to pieces.

While he was distracted, the little blonde had stepped up to him and rested an inviting hand on his arm. “I’ve missed you today.” He said, the undertone to his voice unmistakable. Blue eyes smoldering. “Why don’t you accompany me back towards my rooms so that I can fill you in on the day’s events?”

Nathanos stared at him. The openness, the affection, in his face and in his voice was almost physically painful to be met with in light of what he’d done. Anduin’s hand, so small his own covered it easily, was warm.

“Anduin,” the Dark Ranger’s voice sounded grim even to his own ears. Sensing the shift in demeanor, the gilded Human’s head tilted to one side in concern. Confusion spreading once again across his delicate features. “We need to talk.”


	29. Call Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is a reference to the Shinedown song

“Talk?” Anduin looked genuinely perplexed. Head remaining in its position, slightly tilted to the left like a confused hound. “Alright. I don’t see any reason we can’t. What’s got you so concerned?”

For a drawn-out moment Nathanos simply stared at him like a deer caught in a hunter’s sights-ironic, considering his class-before he finally spoke. Giving a few false starts. Stuttering once or twice-and wasn’t that bizarre? Anduin couldn’t recall having seen Nathanos so incredibly bothered before about anything except, perhaps, Stephon-before finally admitting with all the bluntness the Priest ought to have expected of him “I didn’t betray the Horde. Until last night. Sylvanas sent me in to kill you. But I failed her. I couldn’t do it.” Red eyes fell to his dominant hand. The Dark Ranger Lord looked-likely not for the first time-rather alarmed not to find a blade there. “I threw it into the harbor?”

Anduin raised an eyebrow, the smile on his face almost brain breaking. “Is that a question?”

**_“How can you possibly be joking about this you imbecile!”_** Nathanos couldn’t contain the urge to raise his voice, then. Something within him finally snapping beneath the stress and worry over the inevitable confession which had built up within him. “ ** _Are you deaf? Or perhaps you think I’m joking? I was sent to KILL YOU by Sylvanas! Manipulated you to my ends and amusement; deceived you on the grounds of-!”_** Nathanos was cut off into a rather undignified and wholly indignant noise when Anduin leapt at him. Silencing his tirade with a surprisingly ferocious kiss.

Confusion left his mind momentarily blank before combusting into an anger that cooled near instantaneously into an off-kilter strangeness which he definitely didn’t like. Anduin was warm against him, as always. Nathanos’ hands had found a grip on his hips and the simultaneous desire to pull him close throw him across the room warred within him. Locking his muscles and preventing any action at all before the King pulled away of his own accord.

“I heard you perfectly well, ‘Than. And I’m very well aware that you’re not joking.” He said softly. Almost painfully gently. As if he were speaking to a frightened, broken animal rather than an unstable undead teetering on the edge of seething rage. “I can joke on the matter because there was never any deception regarding your true intent. I suspected from the moment that I received that letter. Knew from the moment we spoke in Shattrath.”

“And you said _nothing_?” he hissed. Anger threatening to boil over once again.

Those gilded brows rose a second time, lending the Priest the look of an unimpressed owl. “Quite the contrary. I told you on no uncertain terms that I knew on our first visit to the cabin. It’s not my fault you chose not to believe me.”

“Anyone else on the street, when told you can look at them and magically know their intention, would tell you that you’ve lost your mind!” Much to his mortification he found his anger slipping away like water through a sieve. The nettling irritation which had sprouted in his chest like a tangle of thistle vines shriveling and dropping away.

“Your assumption of my weak mental health, ‘Than, is neither appreciated nor justification for calling me a lair.” There was a tone to his voice which had begun to edge suspiciously towards offense. “I’ll admit that I’m not free of guilt in this, however. I manipulated you in kind. But this was a game that you started. I never did anything to you that wasn’t in your best interests and never did more than mark out cross roads. You chose which fork to walk down.”

The Dark Ranger Lord huffed. Nostrils flaring. Red eyes flashing. Making a last desperate attempt to snatch at the blazing rage which, these days, he’d found harder and harder to muster for extended periods only to find it far beyond his hope of reaching. “Why?” he demanded. “Why risk yourself so much for my sake?”

“Because no matter the price, a soul is always worth saving.” Anduin was looking at him oddly, now. It wasn’t pity in his eyes. Nathanos knew as much inherently. But it was soft and understanding and broke him worse than any physical blow could ever hope to. “And because you deserved a chance to be something other than what your curse would condemn you to. You lived and died a hero of the Alliance and I truly believe that you can live as one again.”

“You really think you saved me?” he spat, but his mind was too distracted by thoughts of the strange occurrences in the Chapel that day to muster up the proper conviction for real venom.

“No. You saved yourself.” Anduin said. “I just made you realize that you had that power.”

Nathanos stood there, hands fisted at his sides, and glared at him. Reaching again and again for an anger which refused to materialize. For a betrayal which, though present, wasn’t great enough to seize hold of and wrap around himself like a protective shell. All that he found, to his mortification, was a desperate urge to hold him. Touch him. Mark every part of him as his, now that he could be such with permanence rather than for the short time there was before he was forced to destroy him.  And a respect borne from the realization that he, the hunter, had been expertly played by his prey.

The Lion had tricked him into willingly stepping into the trap that he himself had laid. And even known that, even desperately seeking one, he could find no reason to justify not doing so.

What little remained of his resolve crumbling away, Nathanos seized hold of the slightly wary Priest and dragged him close. Holding him in an almost crushing grip. Groping, desperately, at bare flesh and fine clothing and soft hair. Anything. Anything that he could reach. The iron teeth snapped shut around his ankle, digging in with no escape, but the Blightcaller could no longer bring himself to care.

Anduin appeared surprised by his reaction, his smaller body briefly going stiff in his arms but relaxing just as quickly. Allowing his weight to rest against the large man as he wrapped his arms around his waist.

“I hope there are no bitter feelings between us now.” His voice was soft in the deepening purple twilight which flooded in through the northward facing windows. “You’d likely denounce me as a fool for such a thing but, Light, I’ve come to feel so deeply for you. So much so that not having you with me today…I couldn’t focus on much of anything.” A pause. Nathanos felt the rise and fall of the blonde’s shoulders as he made a sharp exhale. “That makes me sound more like an obsessive stalker than I’d hoped.”

A low hum rumbled though Nathanos, the taloned fingers of his left hand running absently up and down the ridges of the younger man’s spine almost of its own accord. “Considering circumstances, I don’t believe either of us can justify hard feelings.” Quite the contrary, though at this point such realities didn’t matter. They were simply too knotted up in one another’s coils, for better or worse, to meet with any meaningful success if they tried to pull away. A two headed ouroboros. Needless to say, this wasn’t the outcome Sylvanas had expected when she’d given him this mission. “And you’re not the only one who’s spent the day…distracted.”

“Distracted?”  Anduin turned his head up to look at him. Propping his chin on his collar bone. Petal pink lips pulling up into a brilliant smile. “How so?”

“To put things quite bluntly, my Liege, I resisted the urge to steal you from your work and take you on that desk of yours only out of concern for the outcome of my confession.”

Anduin’s pupils had begun to swell. “That certainly does sound like a marvelous use of that old heavy thing.” The Priest went from passively leaning his weight against him to actively pressing their bodies together, his posture suggestive. “I see no reason why we can’t go do that now. There are still quite a few more hours to burn before anything which can be considered a reasonable bed time.”

Nathanos looked down at the Human nestled not just willingly but comfortably in his arms. Struck, not for the first time, by confusion. Why? Anduin could have had anyone. Easily. Anyone his own age, or even older but still younger than he was. Anyone kinder. Anyone with less blood on their hands. Anyone alive.

And at the same time, that familiar feral selfishness flared up within him like a venomous monster. Bedding down in the lair it had found within his chest within an air of satisfaction about it at the realization that Anduin wasn’t going anywhere.

Nor did he want him to. In any capacity. And if he tried to leave the Dark Ranger Lord would be forced to chase him. To hunt him down, again and again, no matter where on Azeroth or beyond he tried to hide. Because being with Anduin made him feel the closest thing to alive than he had in decades, and he’d grown too used to that to ever let himself go back.

And then there was the matter of their-strangely-mutual feelings.

“Indeed, my Liege, there’s plenty of time for us to put your desk to a much better use.” Nathanos’ hand continued its steady motion up and down the length of his spine. Anduin arching into his touch like an affectionate feline. “But that also means we’ve time to handle a few things which need done before we move on from this.”

The King pouted but didn’t protest, perhaps sensing something in his tone or else reading the sincerity of the need to address the subject in question in the plains of his lined face. “What’s wrong?”

“My oath was made in falsehood. There was never a real tie in it. It means nothing.” A brief hesitance. Then “I want to fix that.”

“I don’t need a vassal’s vow. Certainly not from you, ‘Than. We’re equals. Especially considering-.”

“This is my choice.” There was a tone in his voice which bordered a snap, dropping down into a repeated almost whisper of “my choice” as if the concept was approaching something foreign. “Would you deny me that?”

Anduin gazed up at him for a long moment without answering before he dipped his head and nodded. “If this is truly what you wish I won’t deny you.” Stepping back and squaring his shoulders as the larger man sank easily down onto one knee, he held out his hand for Nathanos to take. Cold, taloned fingers wrapping delicately around it in response. “Nathanos Blight-.”

“No.” Red eyes gaze up at him from their lowered position tinted almost desperate. “Not that name.”

Anduin blinked, smiled, then nodded. “Nathanos Marris.” He amended softly. “You came to me with a plea for forgiveness. A plea you needn’t have made. But knowing that now, more than ever, you’re truly in danger from the Dark Lady’s retribution I reiterate my protection in return for a pledge of your loyalty and of your skills to Stormwind’s banner. Do you accept these turns in binding contract until the close of this war?”

“Anduin Wrynn,” like last time, Nathanos held him in an unblinking gaze though there was no hint of the malice that had once been there, “I came to you in falsehood and now plead forgiveness. Sylvanas will always be my Queen, but I can no longer bare to serve her knowing the cost would be your life. In return for your protection, I, Nathanos Marris, accept your terms in binding contract. Until my second death.”

When he brought his hand to his lips to seal the oath, he kissed not the ring but the young Monarch’s scarred knuckles. Anduin wincing at the sudden tightness in his chest at the notion. Gently removing his hand from the Dark Rangers shockingly tender grip and taking his face in his hands. Feeling cold skin and wiry beard as Nathanos leaned into his touch.

“Please, ‘Than. Don’t say things like that.” He said softly. “I don’t want to think of losing you.”

“This is war, my Liege. And your life is worth far more than mine.” The rumble of his voice was low in the quiet room. “Not in the least because I’m living on stolen time.”

Nathanos could see, in the set of his features, that the corrupt line of conversation had deeply upset the younger man. Rising to his feet, freeing himself from the Priest’s light touch, he took Anduin’s face in his hands instead. Cradling his chin in his large, calloused hands like delicate porcelain and kissing him. Resisting, only narrowly, the urge to tear away the thin layer of clothing which was all that separated them and have him somewhere in that room-the bed, hell, even the floor-rather than atop the desk in the royal chambers which were just so far away but he restrained himself. The royal guard, no doubt, knew that Anduin had come into his chambers. If he didn’t emerge soon there’d be suspicious. Yet more fuel for the rumor mill.

If it ever came out that the High King of the Alliance was having sexual relations with not only another man but an undead and former member of the Horde, it would all but surely be the death knell of his rule. Nathanos wanted no hand in destroying him.

Dropping his forehead against the smaller man’s, he said “I think it’s best we move our business to your chambers, my Liege, before any suspicions are aroused.”

“Yes.” Reluctantly, though not going far, Anduin stepped away. “You’re right. I trust my guard, but…people talk. Especially concerning…well…”

“Scandals.” Nathanos finished.

“I-! No! That’s…you’ve already had one relationship that was treated as a dirty secret. As if loving you is somehow wrong. You don’t deserve that again.” The King blinked. Reached up to run a hand nervously through his hair. Upsetting the soft, golden strands from where they’d lain held in place by that dark blue ribbon. “I’ve set things into motion with Lucille Waycrest. Our marriage contract, if she agrees to my proposal, will likely be a complicated one dependent on whether or not we want the Houses of Wrynn and Waycrest to be permanently fused as well as other assorted things, but things will soon be settled I’m sure. And Jaina was right to mention that it’s not unheard of in Stormwind’s history, or even in the history of my line, to take a King Consort in addition to a Queen-.”

“Absolutely not.” Not harsh but final. Anduin blinked at him in confusion. “What matters is that you’re mine, not that others know it. My nature aside. Doing something like that would ruin you.”

“We don’t know that.” Stubborn.

Nathanos sighed. “I won’t take that risk.” He said. “Not with you.

“But-.”

“Anduin.” The older man cut him off.  “Enough.” The young King took a deep breath but, reluctantly, relented. Nathanos took a small step away and towards the door. “Come.”

Collecting himself as best he could despite the redness high on his cheeks and the telling darkness of his eyes, Anduin smoothed his hair back into place and followed. Nathanos allowed the Priest to exit the room first and proceed him down the hell, discretely observing the reactions of the guardsmen who lined the hall as they passed.

Though he reasonably knew that the hallway between the room that he’d been given and the royal chambers was no longer than it always had been, yet in his anticipation the short distance of a handful of steps seemed to take a small eternity. And by the time they’d reached the royal chambers and the heavy wooden door had swung shut behind him the Dark Ranger could contain himself no longer.

His hands had slipped beneath the lapels of Anduin’s blue and golden over coat almost before the blonde had turned around. Forcing the thick, fine fabric down over thin arms and then off onto the floor. Anduin’s surprised purr of pleasure was muffled by the demanding kiss Nathanos caught him in, slipping one taloned finger below the youth’s collar-mindful of the sharpened point it ended in-and slit open his shirt. Sending buttons, popped off their moorings, flying across the room.

No complaints came from the little Priest while what little focus Nathanos had to spare was redirected to the infuriating struggle to rip off his mail gloves. Once he’d succeeded in doing so he flung them across the room without a thought to where they might end up and lifted the blonde’s weight into his arms. A growl of satisfaction beginning to rumble in his chest as Anduin’s legs wrapped around his waist and his arms around his shoulders. Gripping his hips for support, face buried in the crook of his neck in the midst of a concerted effort to mark every inch of bare skin possible, Nathanos carried him those last few steps.

Shifting Anduin’s weight onto one arm he swiped the other across the top of the desk. Careless of where the papers that had been strewn across it, finished or not, landed. The sound of the inkwell shattering when it hit the floor failing to register. Lying the smaller man on his back atop the newly cleared surface, he parted from him long enough to undo the familiar latchings of his armor and tear away the clothing beneath it to leave himself bare then turned his attention to the last piece of cloth left standing. Ripping it away with all the force he could justify without running the risk of hurting the Human who wore it.

Displeased with the amount of time he’d been out of reach Anduin mewled and raised his arms in silent plea which, like a powerful magnet, drew him in. He’d heard of a Priest’s ability to physically pull others towards them if they so desired but had never seen it used. Had he not been so caught up in the moment Nathanos might have wondered if Anduin had employed just that or if the speed of his reaction was merely a consequence of the strength of his desire.

At the moment he was too busy maneuvering himself in such a way to ensure the ancient desk supported both of them to bother.

“Where-?”

“Top drawer. With the quills.” Anduin’s grin was almost feral when Nathanos raised an eyebrow. “You weren’t the only one having fantasies today. I took the liberty to make preparations.”

The Dark Ranger Lord simply shook his head before he resumed the process of nipping at his jawline. The hand that wasn’t supporting him, preventing his full weight from bearing down on the smaller male beneath him, pulling out the aforementioned drawer and feeling around until his fingers located the necessary vial. Pulling back just far enough to remove the cork with his teeth. The tiny piece of wood coming free with a surprisingly loud pop for its size, spattering them both with tiny droplets of the lightly scented oil inside.

“Kingsblood?” he said. “Really Wrynn?”

“I like the scent.”

“It’s lube!”

“So?” Anduin huffed, pupils now so large they’d entirely consumed the paler irises around them. Saturating his eyes like pools of night drenched water. His expression pulled down into one of distaste at the unnecessary delay. “Now, I think we’ve bigger concerns than my choice of oil at the moment!”

“But of course, your highness.” Nathanos said dryly, shifting his weight onto his elbow so that he could free his other hand. Resting it lightly, palm down, against the young King’s stomach. Feeling the warm, taut skin quiver as he slid his hand up towards the Priest’s chest. Soft, near to unseen golden hairs brushing against his fingers as they passed. “I’d almost forgotten you’re a noble.”

Anduin huffed at him indignantly, opening his mouth to respond, but Nathanos acted before he could. Taking hold of the smaller male’s thighs and yanking him forward. Prompting a surprised squawk at the sudden change of position and a mild glare. Nathanos merely blinked unrepentantly back at him, making a flagrant point of sucking a dark bruise onto the alabaster flesh.

“Can I help you with something, my Liege?”

“Light, Nathanos, you’re a menace!”

Low laughter rumbled in the older man’s barrel chest. Placing two more low bites with careful consideration, he nipped at the inside of his knee before beginning the process anew on the other leg. Anduin, as ever unable to simply look on and with his hands currently free of any binds, was quick to reach down and bury his pianist’s fingers in his dark, slicked back hair. Restraining his impatience to the occasional almost painful tug.

Finally deciding to take mercy on his younger partner-if only because his own fuse had begun to burn dangerously low-Nathanos prodded gently at the blonde’s entrance with an oiled finger. Slipping in to the first knuckle. Anduin inhaled sharply. His pale chest spasming upward as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. Raising his head from the hard wood in an only partially successful attempt to watch.

“Don’t make me blindfold you.” Not harsh or commanding but none the less the Priest obeyed. Arching his back as the Blightcaller added a second finger, swiftly followed by a third. His control was fraying. Still, Nathanos forced restraint. Ensuring the young Monarch was sufficiently prepared before he allowed himself-well, both of them really-the relief that he was seeking.

Glowing eyes, darkened to a vivid crimson with arousal, flicked up to the smaller male’s face. Sooty blue eyes made a subtle attempt to watch proceedings through dark lashes. Nathanos elected not to reprimand him for his disobedience, just this once, instead electing for a bit of mild punishment in (attempting) to extend the time that he was left hanging in anticipation.

Pooling more oil in his palm, Nathanos took hold of himself. Proceeding those last few paces towards full hardness. Hissing softly under his breath. Imagining that it was Anduin’s thin, warm fingers instead and nearly losing his grip on restraint as consequence.

Damn it all, he’d just have to let the disobedience slide. Not something which Nathanos planned to make a habit of doing, his authority within such venues was necessary for the dynamic of their relationship, but a one off, surely, wouldn’t matter over much.

Anduin whined, low and desperate, in the back of his throat as Nathanos brushed the tip of his length against his entrance. Even near to the end of hip rope and hanging dangerously on the edge of no longer being able to contain himself the pleasure of the sight of the vibrant youth coming undone beneath him.

Sadistic? Perhaps mildly so. But Nathanos knew it had nothing to do with his cursed state. Had he found himself in this position whilst he’d lived, he’d have done the same thing. The temptation was simply irresistible.

Glassy eyes gazed up at him, hooded and unfocused. His hair had begun to escape from its cerulean binds, spilling across the dark wood in wild golden strands. A vital flush had spread across his chest, up his neck and over his delicately crafted cheekbones and his lips, tugged so harshly by his worrying teeth, had been left glossy kiss bruised and puffy. Parted in just the way that hit him hard.

Lining himself up, Nathanos pushed forward. Easing in despite his desperate desire to simply thrust forward to the root without giving the blonde the chance to adjust. Knowing that it would not only hurt him, but was likely to cause some manner of physical harm.

Gasping in a shuddering breath of unneeded air Nathanos dropped his forehead back to the younger man’s. His weight braced against his arms. Anduin’s heaving chest pressed against his own unmoving one.

“’Than.” It seemed to be difficult for him to speak through the sheer force of the lust which racked his body. “Move.”

Anduin’s manicured nails scratched furrows into his back as he clutched at his shoulder blades when Nathanos rolled his hips forward. The little blonde choking back a hoarse cry. The larger man snarled. Rocking forward a few more times before speeding his pace. The collision of flesh against flesh becoming harsher. Burying his face in the crook of his neck once again. Taking a deep breath of his scent; incense and vanilla and living flesh. The seduction of the thud of his pulse, hot blood coursing just beneath thin skin, running him through with the siren call of the cursed hunger he’d resisted for so long.

That he’d resist again.

Viciously pushing the desire to bite down, to rip into and devour him, away Nathanos paused for long enough to shift his grip on the desk beneath them and drive in deeper from a different position. The Priest was quaking, now. Blue eyes rolled up to reveal the whites behind as a spew of mindless pleas and mewls spilled free of him. Hands scrabbling blindly. Cutting more furrows down his back and shoulders. The sturdy piece beneath them creaking in protest as the force of their passion pushed it across the floor. The white-hot coil of pleasure winding tight between them until it could contain the pressure no longer and gave way.

Shuddering above him with a satisfied growl, Nathanos slowed his pace and then pulled free. Sliding down off the desk a moment later. Anduin, for his part, seemed to have been ravaged into oblivion and lay atop the abused desk in a state of pleasured catatonia.

After cleaning himself up and attending to the young King’s own release, left to cool across his stomach by the seemingly unconscious Human, Nathanos lifted Anduin from the age smoothed wood and carried him that last handful of yards to the bed. Lying him down and, on the off chance of a servant walking in to rouse him (not that he’d seen them attempt to do so in the time that he’d been there) covered him with the sheets before he turned to leave.

A muffled word, spoken into the pillow he’d been laid on, stopping him in his tracks. “Stay.”

At this point, what damage would it do?

“Very well.” The reluctance as he clambered into the bed beside him was entirely for show. Wrapping strong arms around his thin form when the King adhered himself to him like a barnacle. “Just until you fall asleep.”


	30. Wedding Preparations

Lucille’s letter had come, courtesy of Tess, only a handful of days later and Anduin had received in answer a surprised but none the less solid yes. The process of making the necessary preparations had begun almost immediately after but the young King had found no relief in the fact that they’d started with the larger details-venue, themes, invitation lists etc.-rather than the smaller things like what their King would be forced to wear. Instead, Anduin was left to watch his impending fate of being treated like a high-priced mannequin race towards him like a lit fuse towards a pile of Goblin explosives. Steps to arrange travel to Stormwind from Drustvar for Lucille had also been made, and she was expected to arrive in his city in the next few hours. Despite insistences that he was fine with the matter-or at least able to tolerate the prospect-the closer the date of the wedding drew the less willing Nathanos became to allow him a moment in which they were together alone without some physical contact. And though the contact and attention were far from unwelcome even the repeated and through ravaging’s hadn’t proved sufficient to distract him for more than a handful of hours.

Court had adjourned just an hour prior, the nobles for once content to chatter about the wedding and the new economic prospects it would open for them on the island nation, and now Anduin had been left in peace atop his throne to attend to whatever needs might arise from his people. Hyper aware not just of the watchful eyes of the royal guard by the presence of his lover and champion, leaned against the throne behind him. Using the curved blade of a dagger to clean below his nails. Boots had resumed her usual post in his lap and Bleak and Goliath were both curled up at his feet.

Movement drew his attention to the door and he looked up. Expecting one of Stormwind’s citizenry, or perhaps one of the Alliance’s many champions, only to pull up short in surprise at the sight of his Spymaster. Attention attracted by the sudden shift of his position, Nathanos turned his head but made no move to stow his knife.

“Mathias.” He sat forward slightly on his throne. “Has something happened?”

“It’s not a matter of serious concern, King Anduin. I’d simply appreciate the chance to speak with you in private.” He said. “You and the Blightcaller.”

Was he seeing things or did the unflappable leader of both the SI:7 and Stormwind’s Assassin’s Guild have a light blush beneath his auburn beard?

Anduin was confused. Nathanos, however, didn’t seem to be. Miffed, certainly. But not confused. At last slipping his knife back into its place at his belt, he pushed away from the side of the Lionseat against which he’d been leaning and growled “damn Rogues. Always sticking their noses where they don’t belong. Belmonte was the same bloody way.” He growled. “It’s best we see to this. Because I’ve the sneaking suspicion your Spymaster has seen far more of us than either of us would prefer.”

Finally processing precisely what that meant the Priest turned bright red and practically sprang up from the throne. “Yes, of course. We can speak in my chambers. I’ve a bit of paperwork to catch up on anyway.” And a bit more to dig out from within the disordered pile Nathanos’ eagerness had left them in and which he hadn’t quite gotten around to properly sorting yet. “I’ll simply adjourn a bit earlier today. Lucille will be arriving in less than an hour now anyway.”

Hurriedly, the little blonde scurried towards the inner doorway. Nathanos and Mathias following behind at a more sedate pace.

Once the door had shut behind them the Dark Ranger caught the Rogue in a pitiless gaze. I don’t believe spying on the personal business of your King is within the prevue of your job description, Shaw. Allow me to inform you that you’d best explain yourself before I find myself forced to convince you to do so!”

“’Than.” Anduin said softly, drawing the full attention of the indignant undead. “That isn’t necessary. Mathias took matters into his own hands out of concern for my safety. By now I’m sure you’ve realized that I tend to engender that sort of behavior in people. Including you.” Blue eyes fell sternly onto him then, and in that moment his relation to Varian was clear. “Having said that, however, Nathanos is correct in saying such behavior is not only beyond the call of duty but not something I can endorse as acceptable either.”

“Forgive me, King Anduin.” Mathias bowed his head. “I’d feared for your safety while alone with the Blightcaller. Having seen all that I did I realize now that such fears were unfounded and will accept whatever discipline you see necessary.”

“I think the fact that you saw far more than you were arguably prepared for will serve as punishment enough this time around.” Anduin said around a grin, propping his chin up on his hand and looking on in amusement as the older man’s blush became inarguable. “Though I have to admit my curiosity. I wouldn’t go quite so far as to call you feckless, Mathias, but I do know that you’re not a man possessed of a guilty conscience.”

“That may be the case, your Majesty, but I am a man who’s capable of recognizing when a judgement that I’ve made is wrong.” Turning somewhat reluctantly to the other man, Mathias said “I judged you incorrectly when we last spoke and for that I apologize. I don’t approve but that ultimately isn’t my choice. I hope we’ve an understanding that you’ll take care of him?”

The sound Nathanos made was half a growl and half a laugh. His red eyes sparking as he folded his powerful arms across his chest. “If that ‘understanding’ includes that fact that anything which I catch so much as looking at him wrong will meet an immediate and very painful end, then yes. We most certainly do.”

“And he keeps trying to convince me that he’s _not_ the jealous type.” Anduin said.

“Not jealous.” Nathanos purred, circling around to his favored position to the right and behind of Anduin’s chair and wrapping his arms around him. “Just possessive. And rightfully protective of what’s mine.”

Mathias raised an eyebrow. Anduin didn’t appear to have the slightest problem with being declared as ‘his’ and simply dropped his head against the older man’s shoulder.

“And you mean it when you say you’ve no intention to give Lucille any grief?”

“None of us wanted to be put in this position Wrynn. As long as the Kul Tiran doesn’t get in my way, she’ll be tolerated in much the same way that your skulking guards are.” Those taloned gauntlets raked over the rumpled front of the priest’s fine shirt. “But the moment that she steps one foot out of line I’ll run her back to Drustvar. And if the offenses continue after that-.”

“No such measures will be necessary.” The comfort Anduin found in the Undead’s presence had never been more clearly broadcast than when he lightly patted one of the hands resting on his shoulder. “The course of our communication, facilitated with Tess’ help-a fact for which I’m most grateful-has made it very plain what both of us are getting into. The love of Lucille’s life was murdered on their wedding day by her mother’s order and I have all that I could ever ask for in you. She and I could never love each other, but I do intend to have a friendly relationship with her. And I will, of course, love my children.”

Nathanos grunted, looking perturbed.

“I can easily invasion it. Have always wanted a big family so it isn’t hard.” Anduin tilted his head further back against the Blightcaller’s chest. Blinking up through his lashes. “We’ll have at least two children together, both of whom will adore their ‘uncle’ Nathanos and, I’m sure, will enjoy their archery lessons.”

Not if they were anything like the thinly veiled torture Mathias had  seen him impose upon his students.

The look of abject horror the Blightcaller subjected the blonde to was an image the Rogue doubted he’d soon forget.

“Nothing to forgive, was there?”

Anduin raised an eyebrow, expression innocent. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You’re pants at lying!” He snapped. “Inform me: what else have I possibly done to you which would warrant the punishment execution by a pack of children?”

The Priest dissolved into a rollicking fit of laughter at that, leaving the Blightcaller clearly less than pleased and Mathias feeling as if he were missing pieces of the conversation. Badly as a part of him itched to find those pieces he didn’t doubt the Dark Ranger would catch him and shoot him, if only because he now knew to look, and Anduin would likely have allowed it so long as it wasn’t fatal.

It had been years since Mathias had seen his King free of the heavy burdens of doubt and misery. But now, in the arms of the last person he’d wished him to be but seemed genuine in his intention to rip anything which threatened him limb from twitching limb, Anduin wore a smile that truly reached his eyes. That would just have to be enough.

“Have proceedings to declare your concert yet begun, your Majesty?” he asked. “Or were you planning to wait until after your wedding?”

“There’s no intent to make our relationship broadly known.” And, just like that, all traces of what might have been softness were gone. Replaced with the frigid thorns and poisoned words which were what he’d have expected from the Banshee Queen’s former hand. “I’ve told this imbecile as much already and now I’ll tell you, Shaw, that I want no part of anything which might destroy him. Bring the matter up again and I’ll be more thorough in physically impressing upon you just have serious I am.”

Anduin gently took the other man’s wrist. Restraining without having to put in any real physical effort. A fact which spoke incredible volumes. “I’ve agreed already to honor your wishes.” He said softly. “But I still believe you don’t deserve another relationship which has to be concealed as if it’s something shameful.”

“I’ve brought enough harm to the people that I care about.” He growled, no longer willing to acknowledge Mathias’ continued presence. “Not with you. Not again.”

The Priest sighed but nodded. “As I said, I have every intention to honor your wishes.”

Nathanos Blightcaller was an extremely possessive man. It was obvious in the way he looked at Anduin. In the way he never seemed content with his position in the room unless he was directly at the Priest’s side in some fashion. In the way he glared at anyone who dared take his attention away. That he’d deny the opportunity to have a solid claim to him out of concern of the damage it would cause spoke more to the truth of the feelings he’d somehow developed for the little Priest than even what he (wished he hadn’t) seen up at the cabin.

Outside the thick stone walls of the Keep the bells of the cathedral tolled the noon hour. Nathanos turned his head towards the distant source of the sound, then released his hold on Anduin and stepped back. Folding his arms.

“Waycrest should be arriving in the Mage Tower at any moment. Collect Sanguinar before you go; she ought to make herself useful once in a while and you’ll need a guard with you.”

Rising from the seat he’d taken behind his desk, Anduin raised an eyebrow. “Are you not coming along on the tour, ‘Than?”

“Time ticks down to your wedding, my Liege, and I can hardly let the occasion pass without a gift.” The Dark Ranger’s lined face shifted into an expression of amusement, though Mathias couldn’t fathom the reason. “I require time to procure the necessary materials to make what I have planned. And as your to-be Queen will be monopolizing your attention the hours I spend doing so won’t be ones we could have spent…otherwise engaged.”

Oh, Light! Mathias cleared his throat and shifted his weight. “If you’d prefer, King Anduin, I can collect Valeera and send her to meet you in the Mage Tower?”

“Thank you, Mathias. Please do so.” Anduin said, then turned back to the Dark Ranger. His lover. “Will you at least see me there?”

“If such is what my King desires.” A seamless response, affection lending his normally harsh voice the texture of dark satin. “Allow me a moment to collect my hounds.”

Nathanos turned and exited the room. Now alone with his young Monarch, Mathias asked a simple question. “He makes you happy?”

From the way that his blue eyes sparkled the Rogue knew before he answered. “Yes.”

Mathias nodded.

“I’m grateful for your concern. Truly. But you don’t need to worry about me anymore. Not in this regard at least.” Anduin said. “He isn’t like him.”

“I worried that you were blinded by your feelings, the way I was for a long time. It took what Edwin did in organizing the riots, your mother’s death…I’m not proud of it.” Mathias sighed, looking in that moment many times his age. “You don’t deserve that.”

“Nathanos would swallow his bow before he hurt me on purpose.” A momentary pause before the little blonde smirked and added “well, outside of circumstances where I’m specifically asking for it.”

Shaw narrowly suppressed the urge to squirm. “Your Highness, please!”

It was to Anduin’s open laughter that Nathanos returned, his three glowing hounds trotting along beside him. The Dark Ranger Lord raised an eyebrow. “Are you torturing your Spymaster?”

The Priest grinned, pushing himself up out of the chair behind his desk. “Maybe.” He said. “Would that come as a surprise to you?”

“Given what I’ve seen of the real you beneath that mask of an angel I know you like to wear, not terribly.” Those pitiless red eyes fell on Mathias, narrowed into a feral dare to comment on the matter as he took Anduin’s chin affectionately in hand. Tracing his thumb along the curve of his jaw. “Though I hadn’t expected you to be so open about your darker facets.”

“Oh, but Mathias is already-somewhat-aware.” He said. “Much like Valeera.” A grunt. Reluctant, Anduin pulled away. “We should go and meet Lucille. You’re dismissed, Mathias.”

Without a glance back towards the Rogue Anduin led the way out of the room and through the front doors of the Keep. The warm rays of the afternoon sun cast the sturdy stones of Stormwind in blinding shades of white. The streets were packed with the daily hustle and bustle of citizenry. The warm air scented with brine from the harbor and the attractive fragrance of fresh baked bread. Boots paused to stare hungrily at a stand of freshly butchered meat and licked her chops. Nathanos called her back to heel before she could make any attempts to steal scraps.

Anduin glanced back over his shoulder, taking note of the stand in particular, and then continued onward. “I do trust Valeera to be fully capable of protecting me should the need arise, but would it make you more comfortable with the notion to leave Boots with me as well?”

Wholly aware of what the Priest was planning, Nathanos sighed. “Don’t buy her too much, she’ll end up getting fat.” Boots looked utterly offended. “I said you’d become fat, not that you were!”

“A little bit of meat outside of meal times, every now and again, won’t make her fat.” Anduin stooped down to scoop the hound into his arms; after sending Nathanos a side eyed glare, she tucked her muzzle up under his chin. “But I’ll only get her a few pieces if that’s what you prefer.”

“I would.” Bleak spared a brief disinterested glance at a pair of children as they rain passed in pursuit of a clockwork gorilla. “You’ve conditioned her to expect being totted around. What are you going to do once she’s fully grown and the size of your horse?”

“I’m not certain what I’ll do.” Anduin lightly stroked his fingers over the coarse mane of hair down her back. “But I do know that you will have to get a bigger bag.”

Nathanos huffed. “Again with the cheek.”

A grin. More laughter.  They’d made it to the base of the Mage Tower now and started up the slopping walkway.

Stormwind’s Mage Tower was as crowded as ever; Mages running about in every direction, paying little heed to anything beyond the heavy tomes enchanted to hover in front of their faces; golems, not too dissimilar from those which had kept the peace among the ruins of Silvermoon, on patrol; a seemingly endless tide of adventurers coming and going from the countless gleaming portals housed beneath its roof. Lucille Waycrest stepped from the portal to Boralus at around the same time that they rounded the corner, flanked on either side by Inquisitors Mace and Clearwater.”

Though Lucille appeared unaffected by the sight of him both of her escorts faltered at his red eyed gaze. The larger women’s restraining hand landing on the other’s shoulder when she moved reflexively to draw her weapon, much like the last time. Anduin’s warm smile did little, it seemed, to relax them as he stepped forward.

“Lucille,” he said, reaching out to take her hand and kiss it. Nathanos forced himself not to leap on her in a fit of jealousy. “Welcome to Stormwind. I hope your travel out of Drustvar wasn’t too terribly rough?”

“Anduin, it’s good to see you again. And no, our travel wasn’t rough at all. You’re well?” she turned her attention to the Dark Ranger and offered a partly brittle “hello, Nathanos.”

“Waycrest.” He grunted.

“Now, now Blightcaller. I thought you promised not to bark at them.”

One of the small muscles in his face twitching, Nathanos turned to glare at Valeera. The Blood Elf stood just out of arms reach and looked amused rather than intimidated. “Sanguinar.” He said. “You’re late.”

“Fashionably, as always.” A smug tinted grin. “What’s wrong? The big bad Blightcaller and his three vicious doggies can’t handle my little brother on his own?”

“Elf!”

Anduin let out a heavy sigh and shook his head, briefly resting a restraining hand on the larger man’s arm while simultaneously shooting a warning glance at Valeera who didn’t appear in the least bit apologetic. “I’m very well, thank you. At least as much as I can be given my position and the current state of the Faction War.” He said. “I’m glad you came.”

Now it was Lucille’s turn to offer a tired smile though sadness was clear in her eyes. “I’m happy to help someone else keep their relationship with the person they love.” She said, then looked over at Nathanos again. “Will he be staying?”

“I’ve things which need done, so no. I won’t be keeping an eye on the two of you.” There was a blatantly threatening tint to his expression. “This time.”

“’Than!” Half a complaint and half a warning. Though plainly reluctant, Nathanos backed down and turned to Valeera again.

“If anything happens to him on your watch, Sanguinar, there will be utter hell to pay.”

Valeera’s ears pinned back. “I’ve been looking after him for longer than you!”

“Experience doesn’t always equate to expertise.” Nathanos grunted and turned away. “Boots will remain with you. I’ll return by nightfall.”

Without another word Nathanos vanished back through the doorway of the Mage Tower with a snap of his long dark cloak.

Lucille, appearing rather bemused, said “I take it he’s not pleased with our arrangement.”

“Nathanos isn’t a man who enjoys sharing. But he understands the necessity of this.” Anduin said. “He’ll get used to you. And unless you plain to hurt me, Lucille, he’s not a threat.”

“Well,” there was an air of tenseness to her laughter, “I’ve no such plans. Perhaps a bit of exposure is in order?”

“Allow me to wish you good luck with that endeavor.” He said. “I love the man. I really do. But…he’s not exactly the warmest person to go waltzing up to. But my relationship with Nathanos and his lack of general openness.” Gesturing to the door of the Portal room, he said “shall we begin your tour of Stormwind?”

“Yes,” Lucille said, taking his arm, “I’d like that.”

With Valeera and the two Inquisitors behind them and Boots trotting at Anduin’s side, the pair left the Mage Tower and set out across the grassy courtyard at the center of the Mage Quarter. The sky over their heads was wide and cloudless, the powder blue color reflected in the waters of the canals as they made their way along curving streets and arching bridges of Stormwind. The dark green leaves of the climbing vines which had crept up the side of a nearby building waved in a gentle breeze. Off in the distance a harbor bell tolled.

“I’ve heard bits and pieces of what happened in Drustvar, from Jaina and the Champion of the Alliance.” Anduin paused on one of the bridges and looked out over the glinting water. Was it this canal the Horde had escaped down, when they’d infiltrated his city to rescue the Zandalari prisoners being held in the stockades? Another? He couldn’t recall. “How are you holding up?”

“Marvelously, considering my homelands been ravaged by a coven of monsters led by my mother and that I was put on trial for being a witch.” Her smile and voice were bright but Anduin could tell that she was only half joking. “I always knew that my Mother was…not the kindest woman in the world but I’d never have thought she’d do half of what she did. She claimed that it was out of love for my father, to save him from dying, but to turn him into what she did.” She shook her head. “That isn’t love.”

“I’m sorry.”

Lucille nodded. “So am I.”

A momentary silence. Anduin folded his arms against the marble railing and took some weight off his weaker leg. “If your people need anything, you only have to ask. Stormwind would be happy to provide.”

“Thank you, Anduin. But I don’t believe there will be a need.” She said. “Drustvar has made great strides already in recovering from what the coven, at Gorak Tul’s direction, have done. Most of the physical signs have been entirely corrected. As for the mental ones…though those will take longer to heal the protection of the Order of Embers has given my people hope.”

“That’s good to hear.” He said. “With any luck, Light willing, there won’t be a resurgence of the coven or the Drust which led them.”

“With any luck.” She echoed. “If you don’t mind me asking, Anduin, how exactly did you come to…the relationship that you have with the Blightcaller? I hadn’t thought the Alliance as a Faction looked kindly on the undead.”’

“We don’t, generally. Not like the Horde. Though we do have a shaky, admittedly, understanding with the Order of the Ebon Blade. And there are a few, like Calia Menethil and Alonsus Faol, who we deal with as they’ve proved themselves not to be threats the way that the Forsaken have.”

“Is Nathanos not Forsaken?”

“Formerly, he was. Hand, and former lover, of the Banshee Queen herself. And, though I’d appreciate it if you could keep this fact between the two of us, was sent in by her order to infiltrate the Alliance and bring about my death when it would most disturb proceedings. Of course, he couldn’t do it and ended up confessing everything-of which I was already aware but I do appreciate the honesty-and leaving that position behind.” Anduin said. “What he is isn’t his fault. He’s begun taking steps towards change. To reclaim some semblance of who he was when he lived. I won’t hold the past nor his condition against him.”

“You knew?” she repeated, surprised. “How?”

“A magician can never reveal all his secrets, now can he?” Anduin winked, then smiled. Laughing. “In all seriousness though, Lucille, I’m told my efforts at explanation make me sound less than sane.”

“Let me guess,” Valeera drawled, folding her arms. “You were ‘told’ by him.”

“To be fair, his exact phrase was ‘head case’.”

“Of course it was. ‘Less than sane’ is far too polite to be a quote from the Blightcaller.”

“Oh, ‘Leera, leave him be.” Anduin’s attempt to chide her around his laughter fell short. “But I think we’ve tarried here for long enough and ought to be getting back to our tour. Shall we head over towards the Harbor?”

 

The moment Nathanos, accompanied by his two hounds, stepped through the door of the _Impenetrable Hide_ the temperature within the small building dropped a full ten degrees and the shop keep acquired the expression of having just swallowed an unripe lemon.

“Leather.” He grunted without giving the Human a chance to open his mouth. “And dye. The finest that you have. For the King’s pleasure.”

For the King’s pleasure indeed.

Sourly, the man pointed him towards the back wall where an array of different leathers had been hung out and then to one corner, where a shelf of colored bottles stood. Without sparing the shop keep another glance Nathanos trudged across the room to examine that selection with a critical eye.

Sheep’s leather. Boar’s leather. Buck leather. All of it too thick. Too coarse. Not supple enough. He’d been capable of better at ten years old!

Annoyed by the ineptitude of the supposed ‘finest leatherworker in Stormwind’ he turned his attention to the rack of dyes. These, at least, were quality. Brilliant orange. Vibrant green. Dark black. It didn’t take more than a moment’s consideration for the Dark Ranger to select a deep cashmere blue. Paying with a golden coin and a sharp snap of “if these are truly Stormwind’s finest leathers than this city is in a sorry state of affairs” and exiting the building.

Bleak and Goliath paused on the stoop and looked up at him questioningly. “Dwarven District first.” He said. “I’ll have to make the leather for this project myself, it seems, but there’s no point in coming back to get the fastenings later when we’re already in the area.”

With the loyal Plaguehounds ever at his heels, the Blightcaller made his way over to the neighboring Dwarven District. He pathed his way among the Dwarves, hulking by comparison as were his hounds, all of whom gave him cautious glares, and followed the sound of a pinging blacksmith’s hammer to the center of the District, where he found himself staring down at a burly, black haired dwarf with a weather beaten face smeared in soot.

“Eh, if it isn’t the Blightcaller.” He grunted on catching sight of him, appearing not in the least concerned by his presence Nathanos raised an eyebrow. The Dwarven smith dropped his iron mallet with a heavy clang and spat into a cracked spittoon lying near his feet. Bleak made a disgusted noise. “Didn’t think anyone’d be seeing ya anywhere without the King nearby.”

“Who’s’ to say he isn’t?” Nathanos demanded stiffly.

“Yer already known ta be attached at his back. If he were around here, he’d be within yer sight. And mine by consequence.” He rubbed his massive, calloused hands together with the dry hiss of sand on stone. “What can I do fer ya, Nathanos?”

“I require a more delicate task than weapons and plate armor.” He said. Abrasive. “Are you capable of such?”

“These ol’ hands may look big an klutzy but ne’er let than fool ya!” The Dwarf said. “Now, what’s this ‘delicate task’ o yers?”

“I require a buckle and a D ring.” He growled. “Made from gold. Pure, not plated.”

The Dwarf grunted. “Expensive dog collar.”

“It’s for the King.”

“For the hound tha’ always follows him around, aye? Thought she was yers.” Not terribly surprising, considering the fact that Boots was never far from the young Priest. In no small part because he spoiled her.

Nathanos felt it better not to correct him on the notion that the collar he’d be crafting was meant for Boots and not Anduin himself. “Yes.”

“Buckle an’ D ring. Pure gold, nah plated. Pay now, Blightcaller, an I can have it sent ta tha Keep in a couple o’ hours.”

Better than having to come back at a later time. Nathanos reached from the pouch at his belt “how much?”

With the exchange of coin complete the Dark Ranger Lord whistled to his hounds and struck out back towards the city gates. Passing without so much as a glance between the mass of Knights and guardsmen who had been posted there since the break out of the War of Thorns and the burning of Darnassus. Breaking into a run once past the tree line.

The bows of Elwynn Forest creaked above him as he ran, Bleak and Goliath crashing along beside him. The dappled shadows of the leaves flashed passed. Nathanos leapt over a fallen log and vaulted off a snarl of knotted roots. Landing softly on the moss-covered forest floor and pathing around a bend in the river, following the tracks in the loamy soil until he located, at last, the deer responsible for making them.

The twelve-point buck paid him no mind, too busy plucking the leaves off a low hanging branch to notice the Dark Ranger’s approach. Slinking closer, Bleak and Goliath at his side, Nathanos knocked an arrow on the string off his bow and took careful aim.

The arrow released with a soft hiss and met its mark. The deer attempting to spring away into the brush only to have its legs give out beneath it. Collapsing to the forest floor with a thud and a wail.

Drawing his knife, Nathanos moved forward and put the beast out of its misery. Not wasting another moment in beginning the process of dressing and skinning the carcass.

The kitchens of the Goldshire inn would no doubt be grateful for the entire deer he left on their doorstep. As for the guards at the city gates, they did do a double take at the pelt on his arm and the severed deer’s head, gripped by one antler and still dribbling blood, but didn’t stop him.

The Dark Ranger Lord took to the rooftops as soon as he was through the gates, maneuvering easily through the various districts and reaching the Keep. Selecting the highest tower’s roof for his purposes and, after shaving the hide, stretching it across the shingles and pinning it in place with arrows, cracking open the skull with iron fingers and smearing the greyish mush of brains inside across it as a crude tannin.

With  nothing left but to allow the sun to do its work, he maneuvered his way down onto the familiar balcony and slipped into the Royal chamber to await the King’s return.


	31. Running Down

The wedding was in two days, and between the increased preparations and his own efforts and putting the finishing touches on his gift for the King-a gift he’d have to give him privately after the ceremony had completed rather than in front of the entirety of the gathered Alliance-he’d seen less and less of Anduin and none of him alone. He was always in the presence of the soon to be Queen, if only out of a desire to keep up appearances, but after one experience of meeting the longing gaze of those blue eyes Nathanos had decided that the temptation was too great to permit exposure and had withdrawn to let the pair be.

The sooner this whole affair came to an end the better. For the sake of them both. Because the longer the proceedings kept the little Priest away and out of reach the greater the temptation to reverse his decision became. If he had allowed Anduin to announce him as his consort than he wouldn’t have to go without like this.  The last thing Nathanos wanted was to wound the King in any way-be it physically or his reputation-but his will, when it came to Anduin, had never been particularly robust.

Growling under his breath, attracting the attention of Bleak and Goliath-Boots was still with Anduin, if only to provide the Dark Ranger Lord with some semblance of peace of mind-who’d curled together atop his bed, and picked up the now completed collar. Twirling it between his hands for what had to be the millionth time.

The buck’s hide had been tanned to a mid-thickness leather. Soft supple and dyed a rich lazuli. The golden buckle and d-ring glinted when they caught the light. The Alliance lion tag he’d added as an afterthought, inscribed with the king’s name, tinkling softly.

He dropped it with a thud and a soft curse when a knock came on the door of his chamber. Bleak and Goliath turned their heads to the door, but didn’t growl, as Nathanos rose.

Was it Anduin? He couldn’t think of many others who would ever find themselves willingly knocking on his door at any time of day. But the little Priest would surely have called out by now, if he hadn’t simply opened the door on his own and walked in.

“What?” he demanded, ready to swiftly the questionable gift if need be.

“It’s Lucille.” There was well hidden hesitance in her voice. Nathanos pulled up short. “I realize it’s down to the wire. And a bit late considering the hour. But you’ve mentioned not sleeping before so I thought it wouldn’t be disturbing you too much. May I speak with you regarding a matter of importance pertaining to the wedding?”

“Very well, Waycrest.” Nathanos set the collar back down on the desk behind him. What did it matter if she saw when she was already aware of their relationship, if not the specifics? “Come in. If you must.”

The door opened with a creak and then shut behind Lucille once she’d stepped into the room. Bleak couldn’t be bothered to even spare a glance but Goliath leapt off the bed and padded over. Sniffing curiously at her sleeve before dismissing her as uninteresting and making his way over to Nathanos. The Dark Ranger Lord scratched behind his ears, but his red eyes remained on Lucille.

“As I mentioned, it’s a bit last minute but it took quite a bit of convincing for my Inquisitors to allow it.” She said. “My marriage to Anduin is entirely for show. After what happened to Alex, I could never love another. Anduin is clearly in love with you. Because of that, because I want it to be clear to both of you that I have no intent to come between you, I think it’s only fair you be included in the ceremony. Especially since,” sadness passed across her face for a moment; Lucille averted her eyes, “my father isn’t here to walk me down the aisle this time.”

Nathanos stared at her. “You want _me_ to take his place?”

“Only if you’re willing.” She said. “I can’t think of a better way to communicate that I’m not a threat to your position.”

For a long moment the Dark Ranger Lord observed her shrewdly. Finding no deception or insincerity, though Lucille seemed less than comfortable with his scrutiny, he huffed. “You are aware that Greymane will expect you to ask him if you’re not going to be escorted by one of your own people. If only because he’ll assume Anduin will have asked you to do so.”

“Genn Greymane, I’m sure, is a good man at his core and likely means well.” Lucille said mildly. “But if he attempts to raise any sort of fuss regarding matters that don’t concern him, he’ll quickly be reminded that superstition isn’t all that natives of Drustvar are known for.”

Perhaps they’d get along after all. “You may wish to be more mindful of the image such a decision will create. Especially as your first impression.” Nathanos said. “Anduin is a loving fool, but I’m not well liked by most.”

“Image has never been a terrible concern, though my mother would have preferred otherwise.” Lucille said. “Don’t think that I mean to pressure you into a decision, Blightcaller, but given the deadline’s close approach I do need to be made aware if I should search for another to fill the role?”

Nathanos sighed. “Very well. If you so desperately desire my participation in the ridiculous proceedings so be it. I suppose I’ll have to submit myself to one of those rapid wedding planners for some inane out fit I’ll have to burn immediately upon the wedding’s end?”

“I suppose so.” Lucille smiled. “But that just puts you in the same boat as me. I welcome the company.”

“Any other questions?”

“Yes, actually.” Dark eyes found the collar. “Is there any particular reason that that dog collar has my fiancé’s name on it?”

“How in depth would you like my description of our sexual dynamic to be?”

Her face tinted red. “Forget I asked.”

Nathanos smirked.

“I’ll let the planners know. They should be expecting you at the _Golden Stitch_ tomorrow.” She turned back towards the door. “I’ll take my leave, Nathanos.”

A grumbled response on the part of the Dark Ranger Lord as he turned his attention back to the collar, barely registering the sound of the door closing.

It was a long night with little to do but the morning, he knew, would be even worse.

 _The Golden Stitch_ was a high-end tailor shop in Stormwind’s Noble District, located in the shadow of the Keep. Nathanos hadn’t been terribly pleased with the notion of having to be there in the first place, but when the shop owner-a pink haired Gnome, small in size even for their kind, and wearing a ridiculous looking bottle cap monocle-squeaked at him to ‘keep his filthy beasts outside’ his mood took a nose dive. When he bared his teeth and growled the Gnome, unphased, simply informed him that if he didn’t behave like a man he’d be made to stand outside too.

Nathanos had to suppress the desperate urge to lift the presumptuous little midget by the scruff and shake him.

“I’ve been told the soon to be Queen has selected you as her escort down the aisle.” He squeaked, apparently ignorant to the twitching of the Dark Ranger’s eye. “I can’t say I understand why. There’s no accounting for taste, I suppose, and those Kul Tirans are truly strange. But no matter! I’m not the greatest stylist on Azeroth for nothing! I can even make a sour faced Undead look good; once I’m through, no one will think you out of place.”

Had he said lift him by the scruff and shake? He’d meant squeeze until his head popped off.

The Gnome had begun to make his way between the racks and displays of brightly colored clothing. Gesticulating wildly as he continued to prattle on about pointless nonsense. Nathanos did his best to block him out but it wasn’t easy to do with a voice so high pitched.

When they reached the back of the shop he was ordered into a stool. “Sit!” Once he’d complied, highly reluctantly, Nathanos was subjected to a flurry of measuring tape and demands for his dimensions and promptly informed that his chest was too broad.

“You can’t be wearing this awful chainmail to a wedding! No, no! Not at all!” He squeaked. “Black, admittedly, is most certainly your color but there will need to be a lighter element as this isn’t a funeral or an execution! Gold for Stormwind, perhaps? And a Wrynn livery, seeing as you’re beholden to King Anduin.”

“Just get this over with!” He snapped. “And if I look ridiculous it’s at your own peril!”

The Gnome didn’t appear in any way impressed. “Put your shoulders back, Blightcaller.” He said. “I need to make sure my measurements are correct and your slouching is of no help!”

By the time all was said and done Nathanos was more than ready to garrote the Gnome with one of his damned tapes, or perhaps to fashion one into a noose to hang him from the rafters, and by consequence of exposure his mood was even worse than usual. A fact which others seemed to be able to sense, as the citizens and guards who walked the streets paid him an even wider berth than usual.

Annoyance simmering just beneath his skin the Dark Ranger Lord, rather than return to the Keep, set a course towards Old Town and the array of training dummies which he knew had been erected not far from SI:7’s headquarters. Given that it was between lessons, and early in the morning still-which ought to speak for the faith he had in his students’ desire to truly heed his teachings towards becoming Rangers-he hadn’t expected to find any of them there. To his surprise, Kieran and Corvin-grousing at each other about being pressured into coming-struggled to find success in shooting Arcane Arrows and Nolan-sitting beneath a nearby tree-alternating between calling out suggestions and staring at the locket in his hands.

The Human leapt a foot in the air when Nathanos stopped beside him and demanded “slacking, Buckley? That’s unlike you.”

“N-Nathanos! I mean, Sir! I…no, not slacking at all.” He hastily picked up the locket he’d dropped and cradled it to his palm, as if trying to hide it from view. “I’ve been trying to help the others ever since you made the suggestion. But I quickly found out that calling out advice is more affective with those two than anything else; if you try and demonstrate for them, they just let you do all the work.”

Nathanos grunted, but his disinterest was mostly feigned. Though he still looked down on the task that he’d been given and considered the collective lot of them to be among the worst students he’d ever had to deal with, Nolan had quickly become his favorite. He listened, showed genuine desire to learn, wasn’t entirely inept and was willing to work at something as hard as he had to in order to succeed. Light, the Blightcaller might even be forced to admit that he was proud of the progress that he’d made. “What’s that there?”

Nolan looked down at the locket in alarm, almost as if he’d forgotten that he had it, then looked away. “It was my mothers.” He said after a drawn-out moment. “It’s all I have left of my family.”

“I did hear that Duskwood was overrun with a Sargeron Cult during the Legion’s invasion.” Nathanos said.

“I should have been there. Not training with Foxworthy in Elwynn! If I had been-.”

“You’d be dead too.” The Dark Ranger cut him off, red eyes stern but not without empathy. “Believe me, Buckley. As a man who met just such a fate, there’s no worse death than to give your life to save the ones you love and fail.”

Nolan looked away and was quiet for so long Nathanos thought he wouldn’t speak again. Just as he was about to cross the yard and menace his other students the young man asked “as a Dark Ranger, you know Necromancy, don’t you?”

Nathanos pulled up short, a chill passing down his spine. “Most complex undead are capable of Necromancy in some form, yes.” He said. “Why do you ask?”

“Just curiosity.”

The Dark Ranger Lord made an unconvincing noise. “It’d best remain curiosity, and nothing more.” He said. “The King does not look kindly on Necromancy. For good reason. If it were to be discovered that you were fiddling with something like that-.”

“I understand.”

“For your sake, I hope that that’s true.” He said. “It would be a shame to lose my only competent student.”

Turning his back, Nathanos crossed the yard towards the other two. Both of whom went white as soon as they caught sight of him. “Don’t stand there gaping at me, damn you! Pick up your bows! You’re going to demonstrate the progress the pair of you have made!”

 


	32. Under the Table

“Well, don’t you look handsome!”

Annoyed, Nathanos turned his head towards Tess’ voice. The Gilnean princess wore a fitted, dove grey dress; her long black hair was piled elegantly atop her head with a swarm of silver pins. The Dark Ranger Lord huffed in response and tugged on the mouth of the filigreed gloves he had on. The leather ensemble that the insufferable gnome had provided him with fit well enough, he supposed, but something about it just left him feeling uncomfortably out of place. The gold and sapphire House Wrynn livery clinked where it hung across his chest.

Lorna, who’d accompanied Tess-reluctantly, from the look of her-eyed him with open wariness. Her dress was a dark purple and she looked as out of place in it as he felt. “I suppose he cleans up nicely.”

“The weddings going to begin in just a few minutes, Nathanos. I know you’re probably looking for Anduin-and I can’t blame you, he looks remarkable in that ceremonial plate-but if you’re only going to walk Lucille down the aisle you need to get down there.”

“I hadn’t realized the time.” True enough. He’d been so busy attempting to hunt down the young King, hoping to spare a moment with him away from prying eyes-damn the length of time they hadn’t been able to spend even a few hours together-that he hadn’t noticed the time. “I’ll make my way down immediately. The two of you had best do so as well. It wouldn’t do well for you to be late to the High King’s wedding would it?”

Nathanos turned away before giving either of the girls a chance to answer. The cloak he wore cinched around his shoulders with a golden lion pin-a high prices sable fabric of a sort he couldn’t name but knew would be of no use in the rain-rippling at his ankles as he walked down the hallway and descended the stairs.

Madness would have been a good way to describe the sight that met him. Various nobles and members of the planning committee were running about seemingly at random. Nathanos set his jaw and commenced the harrowing process of wading through the chest deep sea of chattering roiling bodies before finally making it out the other side and dismounting the steps at the front of the Keep.

Paying little heed to propriety or the risk of scouring the fine leather he’d been forced to don, Nathanos shimmied up a water spigot and set out across the roof tops towards the cathedral. Landing with a muted thud outside the cathedral and immediately being treated to hateful glares and bared teeth by a pair of Worgen. Grey Guard, by the look of their armor, which meant that the Gilnean King was already present.

Marvelous.

Ignoring them, Nathanos ascended the stairs and walked through the cathedral doors. A Draeni with a rather out of place looking clipboard in hand and flowers in her horns pointed him through a doorway where he found the bride’s parry and his three hounds.

And Greymane.

The Worgen King was dressed as usual in a pseudo-Kul Tiran style. His long seal overcoat edged in gold. From what Nathanos was able to pick up on from his position in the doorway was that an attempt was being made to convince Lucille-wearing a well fitted bride’s dress of shimmering silver-white velvet which she looked well enough in, he supposed-of something. As he came closer it became plain precisely what that something was.

“-couldn’t help but notice that there doesn’t seem to be anyone here who’d fill the role of walking you down the aisle.” He was saying. Nathanos could already feel his smoldering annoyance beginning to creep up on him again. “Given all that’s happened of late I’d understand if such considerations would be painful for you to have to think about, but we can hardly have you walking down the aisle alone. Such a thing would be entirely against tradition.”

“Well then, Greymane, it’s a good thing Lady Waycrest won’t be unaccompanied.” He growled. “Now, mutt, do cease attempting to insert yourself where you’re not wanted lest someone find the need to put a muzzle on you.”

The aged King spun around, eyes flashing gold. “Blightcaller!” His posture coiled down defensively. “Your fetid hide isn’t wanted here.”

“Quite the contrary, King Greymane.” The snap to the to-be Queen’s voice was a thing of beauty. “You had me worried that you wouldn’t show, Nathanos.”

“I apologize, my Lady. I lost track of time.” He said. “I hadn’t meant to concern you.”

“Yes, well,” she pushed a stray lock of dark hair behind one year. “You got here. That’s what ultimately matters. You’re ready?”

“I need only walk you down the aisle and hand you off to the High King, yes?” Genn was spluttering loudly. Both ignored him.

“And then take your place beside Anduin, as you are his best man.”

“Oh, but that’s another matter.” He said.

“Perhaps it is.” She said. “You look nice.”

“I look ridiculous.” He grunted, then looked down. Boots, holding a basket of flowers in her mouth, wagged her tail when she noticed his gaze. “Are you the flower girl?”

The little Plaguehound yipped and toddled towards the door, tilting her head left and right to prevent any of the flowers from spilling out onto the floor.

“Lady Waycrest.” Inquisitor Mace looked almost out of place in her bride’s maid dress as he felt. “It’s nearly time. We ought to make our way to the door.”

“Yes, of course.” Lucille said, turning towards the door and lowering her veil. “Nathanos, if you would?”

“Of course, my Lady.” Offering his arm for her to take. Nathanos spared Greymane a brief glance and a stiff “good day, mutt,” before escorting her out the door.

“You take pleasure in working him up, don’t you?” she asked as they strode down the hall outside, Inquisitor Mace and Clearwater not far behind.

Nathanos couldn’t contain an amused chuff. “A considerable degree, yes.” He admitted. “Bad blood exists between the Gilnean Fleabags and my people, the Forsaken, stemming from our invasion of their lands at the behest of the then Warchief Garrosh Hellscream. He refuses to see me as anything but an enemy. A vile creature to be squashed. Regardless of the fact that my loyalty is wholly to Anduin.”

“I take it he’s unaware of the reality of your relationship.”

Nathanos shook his head. “I’ve little doubt I’d be in pieces, currently, if he did. But enough of that, now.”

They’d reached the doors of the Cathedral’s main hall, taking their place at the back of the wedding party with Boots in front of them, tail still motoring and basket of flowers still at hand. The doors opened, allowing the front of the wedding party to move forward into the room. Down the aisle in pairs. The bridesmaid’s, many of whom were Inquisitors from the Order of Embers, and groomsman together. Followed by Boots, no longer being particularly cautious with her motions and sending jewel bright petals flying in all directions. And finally, once the music had transitioned into a vibrant fanfare, the bride.

The pews to either side of them were packed to bursting point with all races of the Alliance, though the concentration of Kul Tirans was noticeably high. The leaders of the Alliance-Velen, The Council of Hammers, Genn-looking sour-were seated in the row second from the front. The windows of the cathedral were a vibrant spiral of colors, streaming light down onto the covered altar and the gilded goblets set atop it. Nathanos didn’t pay his surroundings more than a cursory glance, however. His red eyes swiftly finding the King and remaining there.

Anduin was clad in ceremonial plate of laminated alabaster and gleaming gold. The lion’s head helm propped beneath his arm and Shalamayne shining at his hip. He turned towards the door at the change in the music and smiled, blue eyes warm.

Nathanos placed Lucille’s hand in the King’s outstretched one, bowed his head and stepped to the side. Anduin pulled Lucille onto the pedestal beside him.

The music petered off into a final trill of silvery notes and proper silence fell. High Priestess Laurena stepped up to the altar to commence the ceremony.

Nathanos didn’t pay her any mind. Going through the motions of his position without truly focusing on them. The whole of his attention never leaving the High King as he spoke his vows, exchanged rings, kissed his bride and struggled not to look at him.

When the ceremony ended the wedding party proceeded the rest of the attendant guests out of the Cathedral. Anduin and Lucille boarded a horse drawn carriage which whisked them away to the Keep ahead of the reception in order to give the King a chance to change out of his armor into something more comfortable.

“For what it’s worth,” Lucille told him lightly, assisting him in undoing some of the million clasps and ties holding the heavy chest plate on, “you do look dashing in this armor. Though it’s probably not the most pleasant thing to wear.”

“I feel like I’m wearing a metal bucket.” Anduin grumbled, frowning at a clasp which refused to yield to any of his efforts to undo it. “Even the Wrynn battle plate isn’t this bad. Sure, its heavy too but the alabaster laminate makes this unusable!”

The demon clasp at last gave way, allowing the young King to pull off the last of the straps holding it on and drop it to the floor with a resonant crash.

Immediately, an alarmed “my Lord, are you alright?” could be heard through the door.

Anduin sighed, blowing a loose strand of golden hair out of his eyes. “Fine, Ames. Just taking off my armor.”

“Throwing it across the room seems more alike.” Lucille smiled, watching him rip off the gloves and sabatons leaving him only in his metal grieves and the leathers worn beneath.

“Maybe if I dent it badly enough, I’ll never have to wear it again.” He grumbled, twisting around at the waist to begin undoing the last couple hundred clasps which stood between him and freedom. “Lo, a full range of motion!”

“Would you rather wear my dress, Anduin?”

“Believe me, Lucille, I’d love to trade.”

“You won’t be saying that once you’ve been squished into a corset.” She told him. “Nathanos looked nice.”

Anduin’s face went pink. “Marvelous, really. Black certainly is his color.” Perhaps some might disagree, but Anduin truly believed the Dark Ranger had looked stunning in his ebon and gold ensemble, accented with the Wrynn livery slung about his chest. In that moment, more than ever, he wished that they could have been open with their relationship. At least enough so that he could have danced with him, even once, on his wedding day.

“You’re really not going to name him King Consort?”

Anduin shook his head. “He doesn’t want me to. So, I won’t.”

“He’s concerned it would affect your position? Because he’s undead?”

The King sighed. “That’s the reason he’s giving me.”

“There are more important things, Anduin.” She said. “What if you lose him? Wouldn’t you have wanted, then, your relationship to have been known? If only for the sake of being allowed to grieve.”

“It’s his choice. I promised that I’d respect it, the way Sylvanas never did.” He finally managed to wrench his grieves free. “And I’d rather we not speak of this. Certainly not tonight.”

“I apologize.”

Anduin shook his head, lifting the soft sapphire shirt he was to replace his leathers with. “Don’t apologize, Lucille. I just…I know it’s unreasonable to stick my head in the sand rather than face possible realities, especially in times of war, but I’ve lost enough people that I care about to not want to entertain the possibility that, one day, Nathanos might not come back.”

Lucille rested a hand lightly on his arm. “You should go to him tonight.”

“On the night of our wedding? Tradition-.”

“Has kept you from the man you love for long enough.” There was a sternness in her voice which brokered no argument. “Ours is a marriage of convenience. We don’t love each other. We never will, not in that way, because our hearts already belong to someone else. I no longer have that person but you do and I refuse to stand between you.”

“That was why you asked him to walk you down the aisle, instead of one of your Inquisitors.” Anduin couldn’t hide the grateful smile that spread across his face.

“He should be included.”

“Genn wasn’t pleased.” He said. “I’ll have to deal with him later.”

“Nathanos told me of the ill will between him and the Worgen.” She sounded unimpressed. “The grudge they hold is unfair.”

“Bad blood doesn’t require good sense. Rather, quite the opposite.” He said. “Shall I meet you down in the ballroom?”

“I’ll leave you in privacy to put on your pants.” With a last amused smirk, Lucille exited the room.

After putting his clothes to rights and pulling on his boots and gloves Anduin followed her down.

The ballroom of the Keep wasn’t an area that the young King commonly frequented, but he did know that it usually appeared to be cavernous. Now, the yards of lace and silk that the wedding planners had managed to pin to the walls, along with the terraces, tables and tastefully scented flowers, made it appear at once accommodating for the number of guests-which was a feat in and of itself, considering the fact that the whole of the Alliance seemed to have been crammed into the space-and cozy. Gifts had been arrayed atop a long table placed against the far wall. A beautiful, tri-tiered cake was set in clear view. Anduin barely had time to find Lucille before he was swarmed by well-wishers. Citizens of Stormwind whom happily declared wishes for their long lives and many children. The occupants of Stormwind’s House of Nobles, none of whom, Anduin knew, actually meant a word of it. Then his fellow leaders: Velen, who calmly offered him congratulations and good luck; Moira, along with Muradin and Falstad, all of whom were holding tankards of beer-though where they’d managed to get a hold of them he had no idea-whom drunkenly cheered him on and attempted to convince him to begin drinking with them, though Anduin had no desire to wind up three sheets to the wind, and certainly not at his own wedding reception; Genn, who informed him of his approval of his choice of bride though the young King didn’t miss the tension in their interaction, no doubt on account of Lucille having chosen Nathanos to walk her down the aisle; Tyrande, who’s greeting was stiff; Jaina, who smiled and huffed him while trying to conceal happy tears.

Speeches, then dinner, then cake. Through it all, despite his best efforts, Anduin couldn’t locate even the briefest glimpse of Nathanos. It wasn’t until the dance floor had opened and he’d taken Lucille, Valeera, Tess and Jaina for a song and had moved towards the refreshment table to get a drink that something grabbed him by the ankle. Anduin nearly leapt out of his skin.

Red eyes blinked up at him from beneath the table cloth. “Hush and get down here!”

“Nathanos?” Anduin blurted out, taken utterly by surprise. Had the Dark Ranger Lord really scrunched his over six-foot frame underneath one of the tables?

“Yes.” He snapped. “Now, shut up and get down here! _Before_ someone sees!”

Anduin looked hastily around to make sure he wasn’t observed, then at Nathanos-still glaring-and then checked again before he hastily ducked beneath the low hanging table cloth.

“What are you doing? I’ve been looking for you all night!”

“Determining the best way to get you alone in public, Wrynn! Complicated work.” Red eyes took in the bow of his lips, the curve of his throat, hungry as ever. “It’s been too damn long and I’m sure you’re as impatient as I am.”

Definitely. “Impatient is an understatement, I think.” He said, chest already tightening with anticipation. There was very little room to maneuver in that enclosed space with both of them crammed beneath that table but that hadn’t infringed on Nathanos’ ability to pull him close and begin kissing and nipping along his neck. Anduin had an incredibly difficult time containing his voice as he said “but we’re in public! Someone might hear us!” while making a half-hearted effort to push his lover away.

Nathanos easily caught both his hands in one of his, the other resting on the back of Anduin’s neck to pull him closer. “Well, you’d best keep quiet then.”

The young King’s efforts at protest fell short of convincing either of them once Nathanos began kissing him in earnest. Long fingers fisting in supple leather and attempting to pull him closer instead. Whimpering against the press of cold, demanding lips.

Anduin shoved his thumb between his teeth to silence himself when Nathanos gently maneuvered him onto his front. Easing the stiff dress pants he’d been forced to wear down over his thighs and kneading the pale flesh he found there. Preparing him with a small bottle of oil he’d kept hidden on his person before slipping inside. Anduin’s answering whine muffled into his bitten fingers.

The low hanging cloth draped over the table hid them from the party goers around them but provided Anduin with an unimpeded view of those who came by, though it was difficult to put proper names to footwear with his lover rocking insistently against him. He did, however, notice that one of the pairs of dark, water proofed boots belonged to Genn!

Colors flashed before his eyes when he reached his climax. Teeth clenched to keep his silence lest, Light forbid, the Gilnean monarch hear him and feel the need to look beneath the table. Nathanos nuzzled his shoulder then kissed the back of his neck and pulled free. Passing him a handkerchief which had been produced from the Light only knew where.

“How prepared for this are you?”

“Prepared enough to pull it off.” He said, then admitted “I did plan this, at least partially.”

“Of course you did.”

Nathanos lightly pinched him on his still bare backside,  then produced another small vial from the folds of his clothing. “Well enough to have thought to bring a vial of Demetri’s Draught of Deception; drink it and you’ll be invisible for the next 30 seconds. Provided you don’t go casting any spells.” He said. “If you’re quick enough, Anduin, you’ll be able to get out from under this table _and_ put your pants back on before it wears off.”

The young King took the little vial from the Dark Ranger Lord. The glass was smooth and cold beneath his gloved fingertips. “Thank you.”

Nathanos grunted and moved to leave only for the blonde to grab him lightly by the wrist. “What?”

“Wait.” His voice tinted with shyness which urged the larger man to raise an eyebrow. “I…would you…the song just changed and I was wondering if you’d…dance…with me?”

Nathanos sighed and shook his head. He said nothing. He didn’t need to. Anduin had known that it was pointless to ask before he’d done so. Gesturing once more at the vial in the King’s hand the Dark Ranger vanished into the nearest shadow.

Anduin blinked, sighed and uncorked the vial. Throwing back the potion and hastily crawling from beneath the table, replacing his pants in their proper state and finding a position which wouldn’t look out of place for his sudden reappearance.

The rest of the reception passed without much fanfare and finally, at the end of the night, the exhausted pair retreated from the ballroom to the hallway containing the numerous bed chambers. Followed by a handful of playful wolf whistles and jeers.

“They’ll continue partying for the next few days, mark my word.” Anduin said with a sigh. “You’ll be alright from here.”

“Yes.” Lucille said. “I’m sure Nathanos is waiting for you, Anduin. Go.”

The King nodded, kissed her on the forehead, bade her goodnight and proceeded down the remainder of the hallway and pushed open the doors. Nathanos was standing beside a beaten Gnomish gramophone-where he’d managed to find the thing, especially on such short notice, he had no idea-and nudged the needle onto the record it held as he turned to face him. A quiet hiss transforming into a soft waltz a few moments later as the Dark Ranger held out a hand.

“Might I have this dance, my Liege.”

Anduin stopped dead in his tracks for a moment, blinked hard whilst trying to process the matter as what it was, then broke into a smile so large his face hurt. All but throwing himself across the room into his lover’s arms.

The Dark Ranger Lord huffed in amusement, wrapping one arm around his waist and-despite swiftly proving to be less than terribly graceful in this respect-taking the lead. The young King clinging happily to the taller man, head propped beneath his bearded chin, as they spun a rather off kilter path across the floor of the royal chamber.

Three songs passed before Nathanos finally deemed the matter too ridiculous to continue and drew the young King to a stop. With Anduin still not willing to let go of him, they simply stood there together in the middle of the room until the record ran to a stop and the only sound to fill the room was the low, ambient hiss of the needle on vinyl.

Nathanos’ hand slid lightly up and down his spine as they stood together, Anduin leaning against his chest and purring softly. “I still need to give you your wedding gift.” He said. “You need to let go of me.”

The King made a displeased noise and reluctantly released him. Nathanos returned to the desk and picked up the-poorly-wrapped box he’d left sitting there before offering it to Anduin who lightly took it in his hands.

“A thing of beauty.”

“Oh, hush.”

Anduin laughed, smiled and then peeled back the paper before opening the lid. Eyes going wide at the sight that met him, promptly followed by a vibrant blush as he lifted it in his hands. “Nathanos!” He said. “This is…amazing! Did you make this?”

“Everything but the buckles and dye. The supposed best leatherworker in Stormwind leaves much to be desired with his craft.” He gently took the collar from the smaller man’s hands. “Want to try it on?”

“Yes!” Anduin’s blush intensified and he cleared his throat, following his outburst with a calmer “please.”

Nathanos undid the buckle on the collar and slid the soft leather around the Priest’s neck. Tightening it until it rested against the hollow of his throat. The lion tag jingling as it came to rest against his chest. “Turn around.” He said. “Let me see you.”

Anduin did as he was asked, tilting his head and fluttering his eyelashes. Grinning cheekily when Nathanos lightly spanked him in response. “Pretty?”

“Beautiful.” Nathanos watched him smile and turn to view himself in the mirror. Lightly running gloved fingertips along the soft, blue leather. “You can wear that when we play.”

“I love it! By far the best gift I’ve gotten all night.” He fingered the tag. “Though the name tag could say a bit more, I think. Perhaps ‘property of Blightcaller’?”

The Dark Ranger snorted, squeezing a fistful of the young King’s clothed ass. Anduin pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and pushed himself more firmly into his lover’s touch. “Don’t tempt me.”

“Oh, but maybe I _want_ to tempt you.”

“Then do so on a night when you’re not in dire need of rest.” Removing his hand, Nathanos reached up and undid the buckle. “I’ll put this in your upper drawer. Go to bed, Anduin.”

“Only if you agree to go to bed with me.”

The Blightcaller shook his head. “Very well, if it will convince you to cooperate.” He said. “Change out of those ridiculous clothes. I’ll be in in just a moment.”

 


	33. Lessons Learned

Even considering his chance encounter with a good number of them a few days prior, with all the time that had passed since their last lesson Nathanos had almost forgotten how inept each of them were in their last lesson Nathanos had almost forgotten how inept each of them were in their own special way. Corvin was able enough at everything to be considered passably mediocre but couldn’t balance for more than five minutes at a time. Kieran, for all his inability to be quiet, was fair enough at shooting and casting but couldn’t track a Kodo through an open field. Jocelyn, however, was neither good nor bad enough at anything to be remarkable by his standards. Isabelle, as Foxworthy had promised, was an incredible tracker but didn’t have a head for much else. As for the Graeme twins, the only thing they’d seemed to learn from his lessons was that their so called ‘jokes’ were not tolerated. Each and every one of them had come knowing that this was to be their final test and none of them had done better than barely scraping by but Nathanos was too concerned with another matter to drill them on their disappointment.

“Where,” he growled, “is Buckley?” At first he’d thought that Nolan was simply late, for whatever reason. A fact for which he intended to harshly reprimand him, favorite student or no. But now, still with no sign of him at the end of their lesson, Nathanos was beginning to become concerned.

He was met with shrugs and mutters of “no idea” and “beats me” though one of the girls was helpful enough to inform him that Nolan had left the night before too visit his family’s graves at Ravenhill. An innocuous distraction, surely. Innocent. So why did the notion fill him with a lurking sense of dread.

Nathanos had learned long ago to trust his instincts. And his instincts, currently, were dredging up that brief passing comment and slinging it in Goblin lights. ‘As a Dark Ranger, you know Necromancy. Don’t you?’

How many fools had been led by despair and desperation to mess with magic and forces they didn’t understand? To seek out those who might be able to aid them in answering the tempting call of Darkness? He’d asked him about Necromancy, almost as if in the hope he’d extend lessons on the matter in the same way that he had with a bow and Ranger magic. And what of this other teacher that he’d heard about who’d supposedly been helping him?

Nathanos had bolted back into the forest without conscious thought, leaving his startled students in the dust among a cloud of fallen leaves. The towering, emerald crowned trees creaked and groaned around him as he ran south towards the river. Turning round about at the last moment and launching himself off the bank in a disengage. Landing with a splash in the shallow water of the opposite bank. Freeing himself from the muck he’d sunken into up to his ankles and sloshing up onto the solid, grassy slope beyond. Making his way up onto the road and continuing down it at an urgent lop.

The misshapen wrought iron gates surrounding Ravenhill were visible now. Though most of the rampant undead who’d been allowed the maraud across the area for years seemed to have been dealt with by one of the last waves of adventurers to come through prior to the arrival of the Veiled Hand Cult but Nathanos wasn’t taking any chances. Slipping into the shadows after pulling down his bow.

The air was cold and dank and tinged sweet with the stench of peat and grave moss. The shadows seemed darker here. Red eyes scanned the area as he picked his way through the lopsided stores, slowly sinking into the marshy soil. Finally catching sight of his missing student standing most recent graves in the area, blood still dripping from the cut fingers he’d used to trace the circle he stood in the center of.

“ ** _Buckley_**!” The younger man leapt almost a foot in the air at the sound of his shout. Tried to turn around only to have Nathanos seize him from behind. Pinning his arms to his side and hauling him backwards ignoring his efforts to wriggle free, taking care to break the circle as he did so.

“No!” Viciously, though without much affect, he threw his weight to one side and then the other but Nathanos’ arms didn’t give way from where they’d wrapped around his chest. “Damn it! Let me go!”

“Are you _mad_? Necromancy?”

“Let me go! I just want my family back!”

Snarling, the Dark Ranger Lord turned and threw his student to the ground. The young man yelping as his back collided with the sopping, mossy soil. “Not like this you don’t!” He planted his foot firmly in the center of his chest to pin him down. Pale face streaked with mud. The light sprinkling of icy rain doing a poor job concealing the tears which had begun to bead in his eyes. “Take it from someone who _has_ this damned curse! An existence like mine isn’t something you want for anyone you care about!”

“But she told me-.”

“Never trust a Necromancer! Especially not a living one who has no grasp on the gravity of the powers they command! Stop this madness!”

Nathanos watched his student continue to squirm wildly where he was pinned for a moment before going limp. His thin body wracked with the sobs he could no longer contain. Tears cutting tracks through the splatters of ran on his face. “I should have been there! I wasn’t home enough! I should have been home more! I should have…”

Nathanos heaved a heavy sigh, removing his foot and offering a clawed hand to help him up. “You and me both.” He said. “Up with you. Quickly now.”

He hadn’t had to deal with something like this in years. The last time he could recall was when Stephon, at age eight, had fallen from the fence post he’d been sitting on and split his temple. Even having seen blood plenty of times on the field of battle Nathanos had been horrified and struck by the unreasonable expectation that his younger cousin needed to be seen by a healer immediately to prevent him from bleeding to death. Stephon had wailed loud enough to raise the dead and, in that moment, if only because of the panic, Nathanos had felt as if he might start crying too.

Meekly, Nolan took his offered hand and allowed his teacher to pull him to his feet. Propping him up as he hobble-marched him over to the half-melted undertaker’s cabin at the top of the nearby hill in order to take shelter from the rain. Depositing the sodden, shivering Human in a half solid chair and watching him make a poor attempt to wipe his face on his damp sleeve. Only succeeding in smearing the mud and blood further. Nathanos opened the bag at his side and dug around inside it for a while before locating what he was looking for and pulling out a roll of gauze.

“Give me your hand.” He ordered. The younger man, eyes swollen, did as he was told. Nathanos was well aware that he was no healer and that as such his bandage work left much to be desired but as long as it stemmed the bleeding it didn’t need to be pretty. “My family was never what one could call ‘well off’; taking in my younger cousin after the deaths of his parents strained us even more but, even so, we managed to just scrape by.” He grunted. “The pay of a farmer barely kept food in our mouths when the harvests were good. When they weren’t…if not for my allowance as a Ranger we’d probably have starved. But in order to earn that coin I had to remain in Quel’thalas for years at a time.” Securing the last strip of gauze around Nolan’s bleeding hand, he stowed it back in the pack at his belt. “I try not to think of all the time I could have spent with them. That maybe, if I’d been there sooner, had been able to push them to evacuate sooner, that perhaps you and I would be speaking now both as living men.” He sighed. “Undeath is a cruel fate. It’s difficult to feel positive emotions. Negative emotions hound your every step. And then there’s the hunger. No matter how hard you fight the desire for living flesh it never goes away.”

“She didn’t tell me any of this.” Nolan wouldn’t meet his eyes and busied himself with fiddling with the gauze on his fingers. “But she’s not undead herself. Maybe she didn’t know?”

Nathanos snorted. “More likely she didn’t care.” He said. “Necromancers never do. The undead are not but tools to them. So are the living.” Nolan looked away. “Where did you find this woman?”

“She came down from Scholomance after Duskwood was destroyed by the Veiled Hand.” He said. “I ran across her when I first went back home.”

“One of Gandling’s pets.” Nathanos growled. “This just keeps getting better.”

At once Nolan stiffened, seeming suddenly struck by the reality of the date. “Light, I missed the last lesson!” He squeaked, wide eyed. “I guess that means I failed?”

Nathanos grunted. “Normally. But I think I can make an exception for my favorite student, provided my favorite student keeps his mouth shut about the matter.” He said. “We’ll see how you do on a _real_ hunt.”

“Real hunt?” he blinked, confused.

“Did you think I was going to sit back and allow a Scholomance alumni to run amok unimpeded? Use your head, Buckley!” He snapped. “Where’s your wolf?”

“Back in Stormwind.” He said. “Where are your hounds?”

“With Anduin.” Nathanos said. “Someone has to watch that idiot while I’m not around. Make sure he doesn’t fall out his own window. What are you smirking at?”

“Nothing, Sir.”

The Dark Ranger Lord huffed. “It’d best remain ‘nothing’.” He growled. “Tell me you at least brought your bow and quiver with you?”

Nolan at least had the decency to look properly offended by the notion that he would have gone anywhere without them. “Of course!”

“Retrieve them.” Nathanos ordered, sweeping towards the door. “Meet me on the road.”

“Yes, Sir.”

To Nolan’s credit, he didn’t keep his already impatient mentor waiting long. Nathanos looked him over once he’d joined him on the uneven cobblestones, red eyes lingering briefly on the clumsily applied gauze. “Are you able to comfortably shoot like that?” Nolan nodded. “You know where this bitch is staying?” Another nod. “Neither of us have our companions with us, meaning that finding and putting this menace down will fall fully on our own skill. Or, rather, _your_ own skill.”

“My test?” he hazarded.

“Don’t be late next time and you’ll have an even playfield.”

“Aside from the fact that you have higher expectations of me than the others.”

“’The others’ are morons.”

The younger man stifled a laugh and then went quiet. The pair continued on at pace a few moments longer before Nathanos, without warning, vanished into the shadows. Acting quickly to keep up, Nolan drew on the Ranger magic he’d been taught and was pulled into a forest step.

Darkshire had never been brightly colored or welcomingly warm in the same way that Goldridge and Stormwind were, but it had been his home none the less and Nolan had many happy memories of the city when it had still be inhabited. He’d been too young to remember the time before the darkness which had given the area its name had fallen and refused to leave but it had never bothered him, nor had warnings or Worgen and undead or stories of Stalvan Mistmantle waiting to steal misbehaving children from their beds. The tavern had once been bright and crowded. The shops had dealt happily in any wears an adventurer brace enough to patronize them might have need of. The fires of the forge had once burned but now it, like all the other builds, was cold and dark, beginning to fall to disarray. Even the Nightwatch who’d protected them, who’d betrayed them, were gone.

The rain pattered endlessly around them. Nathanos stood beside the moss choked fountain, its basin cracked in twain, turned to look when he arrived.

“Not bad.” He said. “But now the real challenge begins. Find the bitch’s trail and track her down.”

Nodding without a word, Nolan turned away. Finding the woman’s trail, as Nathanos had put it-Nolan didn’t know her name; he’d never asked and she’d never offered-wasn’t difficult. He knew that she’d been staying in one of the back rooms of the inn, recently, but when he stepped inside and looked through them, she wasn’t there.

At least the inclimate weather might lend him aid in determining where she’d gone, provided that she’d left footprints behind. If not, he’d simply have to search every building in hopes of stumbling upon another lead.

Eyes scanned the room he stood in for easy exits and landed on a window. Clambering up the wall until he was able to reach it and pushing against the glass until it popped from its frame and fell into the mud. Nolan clambered out through the resultant opening and swung himself down into the mud as well. Examining the sodden ground as he circled the perimeter of the building. Finally finding a spattering of prints leading off towards the tower once occupied by Abercrombie.

Of course a Necromancer would have gone to the former dwelling of another Necromancer, likely to rob the area of any remaining relics or reagents.

“Found something?” Nolan almost leapt out of his skin. He doubted that he’d ever manage to move with quite the same silence Nathanos did.

“She headed towards the tower.” He said. “I’m uncertain if she’s still there, but…”

“She’ll have left a trail behind regardless. The only question is whether or not you’ll be able to pick up on it.” Nathanos said. “Let us carry on.”

Nodding and readjusting the way that his quiver lay against his back Nolan slunk after his mentor. The two hunters crept quietly along the rain-washed streets, curving up a steep hill towards the crumbling tower that the mad man Abercrombie once inhabited.

Fallen stones were scattered about in the slurry of fallen leaves and mud which had accumulated across the ground in the intervening years. Thin, furry vines clambering up along the crumbling walls. A withered apothecary’s table stood in the corner, cluttered with fogged glass vials filled with brackish liquids Nolan wasn’t sure he wanted to put a name to.

Nathanos, however, had no such qualms. Needing only a cursory examination to identify them. “Embalming fluid. Various humors. How utterly droll.” He turned his back on it. “Necromancers are all the same. Unoriginal.”

It was all that Nolan could do to hid a smirk behind his hand and turned his attention to their surroundings again. Eyes sweeping over the layer of mud, leaves and dust for signs of disturbances. Squinting down at the ragged prints before stiffening. The motion attracting Nathanos’ expectant gaze.

“She was here recently. Within the last hour.” He said. “We should be able to catch up with her easily from here.”

The Dark Ranger didn’t respond and, though it was admittedly difficult to tell given how little expression was broadcast on the man’s lined and bearded face, Nolan liked to think that he was proud, if not overly impressed by his observation. Nathanos indicated for him to lead the way.

Leaving the tower behind, the pair of Rangers negotiated the steeper slope at the back of the hill it had sat on, slipping deeper into the dark forests pressing in on the ruined town. Winding between the trees and clambering over fallen logs before coming to a clearing.

Here, Nathanos indicated the figure standing in the center. Nolan nodded in confirmation. “Deal with her, Buckley. I’ll cover you.” He said. “And keep in mind that a Ranger never directly confronts his prey if he can avoid it.”

Rogues with arrows, Corvin had complained at one point. Whether or not his classmate would have gotten anywhere as a Warrior-personally, Nolan doubted it but that was of no concern now-he’d probably have been more pleased with the more direct approach inherent to that class. Nodding, pulling down his bow and knocking an arrow on the string, Nolan crept forward. Slowly advancing through the undergrowth as he circled the edge of the clearing, in search of the perfect position for his needs. Being cautious to keep the leaf litter from crunching underfoot and give his position away.

Muscles tense. Heart pounding. He raised his bow. Expecting her to see him. At least to notice him somehow. To do something. Attempt to stop him; protect herself, either through dark magic or through summoning some horrific creature. What he got was the snap of the bowstring and the hiss of an arrow. The sight of a body crumpling to the grass.

Nathanos’ voice sounded from just behind him and Nolan almost leapt up onto the branch above his head. “Sometimes war is brutal, bloody and horrific. Sometimes its swift, cold and, perhaps, made all the more terrible by the brevity of it all. Leaving one only with the knowledge they’ve killed in the name of the crown and the guilt inherent in taking a life. Until that guilt inevitably stops coming.”

Nolan lowered his bow and turned to the older man, only his red eyes visible in the dark. “Are you telling me that this gets easier?”

“Easy. Hard. Duty is outside of that.” Nathanos adjusted his cloak. “Now that you’re a true Ranger of Stormwind, having graduated however unorthidoxically, you’d do well to remember this: your highest order is the word of the crown; you serve not the Alliance as a whole, nor even Stormwind, but Anduin directly and through him the House of Wrynn.” He said. “Consider this oath as we make our way back to Stormwind. It is, after all, not a thing to be taken lightly. The position of Ranger Lieutenant is a considerable responsibility.”

“L-Lieutenant?”

Nathanos glanced dismissively over his shoulder. “The next best student after you is Stonebridge, as much as it irks me to admit such a thing.” He said. “I refuse to have _Kieran_ as my second in command. Now, come along. We’ve been out here in this damned forest for more than long enough!”


	34. Safe Sane Consensual

The Dark Ranger Lord hadn’t been able to slip away from his duties that night, between administering the graduation test to his students who’d deigned to attend, the madness with Nolan and maneuvering a confused and wary Foxworthy into assisting in making the necessary preparations and calling on Anduin for the proper oaths. The young King, much to their mutual annoyance, had likewise been kept busy due to further harassment by his damnable nobles and so had been otherwise occupied by the time Nathanos had finished his own work. Finally, after an annoyed night and impatient morning, Anduin had been left alone to tend to his never-ending wellspring of paperwork.

At his desk, backlit by the afternoon sun and smudged with numerous splotches of back from his countless efforts at pushing back the rogue lock of hair which wasn’t long enough to be hound in his pony tail but was also just slightly to short to remain behind his ears no matter how many time he pushed it back. Hearing the door of his office creak open on its hinges, he set aside his quill and looked up.

“Nathanos.” His smile was bright and warm, as always. The tension coiled tight within him began to loosen at the sight of it. “I didn’t get the chance to speak with you after everything with Nolan and Foxworthy, but Valeera’s told me that they all graduated?”

“Some more narrowly than others.” Nathanos rumbled.

“I did hear Nolan wasn’t present with the rest of them.”

The Dark Ranger Lord blinked at him slowly before saying “a personal issue pertaining to certain family matters.” He said. “I had to collect him personally.”

Another smile, followed by a soft chuckle. “You’re a good man, Nathanos.”

He contained the urge to roll his eyes. “So you keep informing me. Ignorant to my repeated corrections.” Nathanos scanned the room but saw no signs of Valeera. Boots, Bleak, and Goliath were piled together in a pool of sunlight near the window. “Sanguinar is off somewhere, I take it?”

“Worried that my ink bottle will eat me?”

“You’re trouble on legs. I could lock you in a windowless room and you’d still find a way to raise hell.”

The Priest’s grin widened. “I do appreciate your faith in me.” Pushing his chair back, Anduin circled around the corner of the desk and slung his arms around the older man’s broad shoulders. Nathanos hesitating for a brief moment before setting his hands on his hips. “I’ve gotten everything that I needed to out of the way, concerning both the nobles and my paperwork. If you’re free as well, we could…head out to the cabin again?” Pulling down the opening of his shirt, he revealed the collar loosely secured around his neck; Nathanos’ eyes widened. “Try out your gift?”

“Wrynn.” The lapis stained leather was a darker hue than the overcoat he wore, standing out stark against the alabaster skin of his throat. “How long have you had that on?”

The smirk the young Monarch now wore would have been right at home somewhere between shit eating and the cat that got the cream. “Just since this morning.”

“In court?”

“Maybe.”

The one time he wasn’t there! “Have you any idea-.”

“Of the risks I took? A very thorough one. But that’s what makes it all so arousing.” Nathanos stared at him blankly. “I actually enjoyed court today, so I think I may do this more often.”

Briefly, an image of Greymane discovering the fact that the High King of the Alliance was wearing a dog collar around under his clothes flashed before his eyes. “You are a monster.”

“In large part of your creation.” He huffed, amusement not flagging in the least. “Are you free?”

That stray lock of hair had popped loose again. Nathanos carefully pushed it back behind his ear. “Consider my schedule cleared until the morrow.”

His assumption that the blonde’s grin couldn’t get any bigger was swiftly proven wrong. How a smile like that could fit on his face, let alone exist without tearing his lips at the corners, Nathanos had no idea. “Shall we head down to the stables?”

“I see little point in drawing out all of this when we’ve still a way to go before we get there.” He seized the Priest by the back of his overcoat when he attempted to excitedly bounce out of the door. “Not so fast, cub.”

“Cub?” Anduin spluttered, caught off guard.

Nathanos smirked at him, straightened the young King’s clothing to ensure that the collar he’d apparently been wearing all day was properly hidden, and didn’t respond. Letting out a half-exasperated huff, Anduin followed his older lover out to the royal stables.

Champion whined at them impatiently, a fact which only seemed to spur Nathanos to take even longer in removing the saddle and bridle from the nearby wall. Anduin chuckled and made his way over the Reverence, patting the Palomino on the nose before slipping a soft leather bridle over his muzzle and leading him from his stall.

“Don’t torture poor Champion for too long.” With one hand occupied with holding the reigns, the Priest ran the other flirtatiously up along the Dark Ranger’s spite as he passed. “I’ll be waiting outside.”

Anduin braced one foot in the stirrup as soon as he’d cleared the door of the stables and swung himself up into the saddle. Quickly adjusting his weight until he settled comfortably against the horse’s back.

Apparently, the notion that he had no intention to wait for him to finish indirectly taunting the horse which had once belonged to his father had spurred Nathanos into thinking better of taking unreasonably long as he soon emerged as well, leading the black beast after him.

“Shall we, my Liege?” swinging himself carelessly onto Champion’s back, Nathanos flashed him a crooked grin. “It will, after all, take us about an hour to reach our cabin. We shouldn’t waste any time.”

“Indeed. Let’s be on our way.” Tapping Reverence with the insides of his riding boots, Anduin pulled the Palomino around and started forward down the cobbled path. Maneuvering around the citizenry and guards on patrol, the steady clip clop of their horse’s hooves against the rutted streets rising above the ambient sounds of Stormwind’s daily life. The sun was just passed its highest point in the sky and its light reflected off the water in the canals and the top of Anduin’s head, lending a reddish tint to his long mane of golden hair.

“How has married life with the Queen been?” though Nathanos kept his voice pleasant the fact he was making a specific effort to tease him was still plain. Anduin turned his head and fixed him in a mild glare. “Any Wrynnlings inbound I ought to be aware of?”

“Nathanos!” Anduin’s cheeks were bright pink.

The Dark Ranger Lord simply treated him to an innocent, wide eyed look which the young King wasn’t buying for a moment. “I’m simply inquiring about whether or not my Liege has performed his obligations yet or does he still have work to do.”

“Oh Light.” Anduin groaned, redirecting his gaze forward. “’Only asking after my obligations’ are you?”

“Quite.” Nathanos kept his face black through sheer force of will, not wanting to allow his amusement to show through in full force. “I’m sure you’d rather I ask about it than anyone else. Like, say, Greymane.”

“Well, I…no, but…we’ve _tried_!”

The Dark Ranger Lord raised an eyebrow. “Tried?” he repeated. “I understand that you prefer sex with men, and being on the receiving end, but the concept is pretty much the same regardless of gender and I’d have thought I’d exposed you to it enough by now that the concept, at least, would be evident.”

“I know the concept, yes! It’s just…” Nathanos hadn’t seen Anduin turn that particular shade of red since he’d first begun to toy with him. “It’s awkward, ok. We’ve managed to get undressed once or twice but after that point we kind of just…stare at each other a bit.”

“Glad to know I’m safe from your spawn a while longer.”

“Oh, please.” Anduin snorted. “You can act at being the put-upon uncle all you want, but I know you’ll love them once they’ve…finally come about.”

Nathanos grumbled something half hearted about barely being able to tolerate their father and prodded Champion faster as they left the city gates behind. Rolling his eyes and shaking her head, Anduin followed.

The warm afternoon breeze gently stirred the emerald canopy overhead and tugged lightly on the golden strands of Anduin’s hair. Dappled shadows rippled across the leaf-strewn forest floor. Insects buzzed in the undergrowth as they passed and, somewhere in the distance, a blue bird called.

The pair rode in amicable silence as the ground slopped upwards and the trees began to thin. Finally, after what felt like a small eternity but what Anduin knew was just over an hour, the cabin came into view.

Nathanos gracefully dismounted and led Champion over to the nearest tree sporting branches sturdy enough to hold him. Knowing Reverence was too well behaved to wander away Anduin simply slid down into the grass and secured the reigns to the saddle horn before leaving the Palomino to graze as he pleased.

Nathanos had mounted the bowing porch and now stood waiting for him, his posture outwardly standoffish and hostile but Anduin could easily pick out the spark of heat embedded deep in those glowing red eyes. He stepped up to him, smiled, and brushed passed into the dark interior. Ever cautious, the Blightcaller waited until the door had swung securely shut to take him in his arms. Large hands groping at his fabric shrouded back until he caught enough of a grip to pull his overcoat free. Leaving Anduin, now slightly rumpled, wearing only a button up shirt with a pair of slacks and, of course, the collar.

The tag jingled softly as one clawed finger slipped into the golden D-ring. Tugging him gently up onto his toes so that his taller lover didn’t have to lean over quite so far in order to kill him. Pale cold lips pressing firmly against his own. Coaxing the familiar surrender which Anduin was happy to offer. The hand not holding him up by the collar coming to rest lightly at the nape of his neck. Anduin’s pleased purr cut off into a grumble when Nathanos broke the kiss far too quickly. The hand on his neck sliding down his back until it came to rest, briefly, on his rear before the Dark Ranger stepped away.

“Go down and choose your toys.” He said, the command plain in his voice. “I’ll be down in a moment.”

“Actually, I…um.” Anduin shifted in slight discomfort beneath the Blightcaller’s now slightly sharp gaze. “I brought along something of my own that I thought we might try. With the collar. And that Strappado you’ve been dangling in front of me for a while.”

“And what would that be?”

The young King pulled a dagger from his boot and unsheathed it. The short, silver blade glinting in the low light. “Safe sane consensual.”

“That,” Nathanos drawled, “is _not_ sane. Nor even ‘risk aware’ at this point.” The Blightcaller stepped forward and took his wrist. Gentle but stern and restraining. The Priest didn’t miss the fact that the older man had begun to shake; that there was set to his features that looked like fear. “Knife play? Blood play? Are you mad, Wrynn? Have you any idea how dangerous that would be?”

Anduin seemed unphased. “You’re good with a knife. I’ve seen.”

“It’s not the knife, you imbecile! The dangerous element of this equation is _me_!” Nathanos snarled. “I haven’t…indulged my curse since the Dark Lady freed me from the Lich King’s control. My control is strained as it is. Certainly, around you. Having the contact we do in the manner we do is risk enough without the risk of drawing blood.”

“You’ve drawn blood before. Have bitten me a couple of times now.”

“A ‘bit of blood’ is very different from _blood play_!” Nathanos snapped. “It isn’t safe!”

“We can make it safe. The same way that we make everything safe.” Anduin said. “With a word. Another color, for the sake of matching theme. ‘Red’ perhaps?”

“This isn’t a laughing matter!”

“Oh, I’m not laughing ‘Than.”

“I’m larger than you. Stronger than you.”

“And Shackle Undead is a thing, in case you weren’t aware.” The King tried, and mostly succeeded, to keep the drawling tone out of his voice. “I love you, Nathanos. And I don’t want to ever find myself in the position of needing to use the Light against you because I know it would hurt you but I will if I must. Because I know it would do far more harm to you to hold the knowledge you’d injured or killed me because you lost control.” The Blightcaller didn’t look particularly convinced and was shooting him a sideways look. “I trust you to control yourself, even if you don’t. Can’t you trust me to restrain you if I have to?”

Nathanos continued to glare and Anduin could practically see the gears turning in his head, trying and failing to find a means of arguing. Finally, he exhaled sharply through his nose and released his wrist. Taking the knife. “You don’t stop at Shackle Undead. You use whatever spell you have to to get me off of you and then you hide behind your strongest shield until I regain control of myself.”

“Deal.”

Nathanos didn’t appear terribly pleased but none the less indicated the door to the basement with a quick jerk of his chin. Anduin didn’t argue further and swiftly descended the stairs.

The basement room didn’t look any different than the last time they’d been there, though the little blonde dearly hoped that there were no Rogues lurking in the corner this time around. Nathanos seemed to be thinking along the same lines because he muttered something about Mathias.

“Come here.” Anduin obeyed the other’s call and trotted to where the older man stood, just beneath the cross bar attached to the ceiling. The knife had been placed atop the whipping table the young King had knelt against the last time they’d been there.

The Blightcaller tipped his chin up to look at him. Carefully removing the blue tie from his hair, freeing the long strands to spill down around his shoulders. His large hands nimbly opened the buttons down his shirt and pushed the fine fabric onto the floor. Anduin stepped out of his boots, allowing Nathanos to do the same with his pants, and pulled off his gloves as he did so. Once the King stood before him, fully naked, Nathanos kissed him again for just long enough to administer a reprimanding nip.

Leaving the Priest where he stood, he went over to a selection of bonds and harnesses and sorted through them before selecting what he wanted and returning to his side. The soft clink of metal as the longer, thinner length of leather was secured to the collar around his neck before Nathanos attached the other to a hook on the wall.

“You’ll keep your head back until I release you.” A growled command. “Hands behind your back. Wrists together.”

Anduin did as he was told without a word, the sensation of soft leather cuffs brushing his skin raising the thin golden hairs along his arms. Attaching to the crossbar overhead, the chains said cuffs were bound to steadily tightened. Raising his arms until the twist of his shoulders bordered deliciously on painful and he was forced to balance on the very tips of his toes.

Calloused fingertips stroked the curve of his spine. Applying a light pressure between his shoulder blades. Anduin obeyed the unspoken command to lean forward, hissing under his breath when the pain increased.

“Good boy.” Nathanos’ voice rumbled from somewhere behind him. When Anduin attempted to turn his head and look the lead his collar was hooked to pulled taut and stopped him. “Words?” He shuddered as the cold flat of the blade was dragged over his ribs. Goosebumps flushing across his skin. His breath catching in his throat. Mouth suddenly dry. “Anduin?”

Unsticking his tongue from where it had managed to secure itself to the top of his mouth Anduin rasped “blue and gold. And yours?”

“Red.” A hand followed the same path the blade had. Deft fingers pinching a nipple between them. The blonde squirmed. “Shall we begin?”

The cold flat was flipped to the cutting edge. A thin cut opening along his chest, stinging and spilling a trickle of blood across pale skin. Anduin held the whimper which wanted to break free on the back of his throat. Behind him, Nathanos swallowed thickly.

The point of the narrow blade continued along a meandering path back around his side and over his back. Carving a spattering of shallow wounds between his third and fourth ribs and up over his shoulder blade. Becoming slightly jagged when it got there. The harsh sting following with it. More cuts followed. Around the swell of his other shoulder. Down the contours of his spine. Across the small of his back.

Fingers joined the knife. Smearing the welling blood further. Groomed nails tugging at the edges of the shallow wounds. The pain jolting through him in bursts. Anduin hissed and squirmed in his bonds. The tightness of his lower regions mounting with every passing moment.

More cuts. His arms. The backs of his thighs. The wings of his hips. The seeking touches became more confident the more evident it grew that Anduin was in no distress. That his control, for the time being, was holding far stronger than Nathanos had been willing to believe.

And then, just when Anduin hadn’t thought the torture could get any worse, those confident fingers were replaced with a cold tongue. The young King yelped. Writhed. Tipped forward so far he’d have fallen over if Nathanos hadn’t seized him by the hips. Growling into his shoulder as he licked and bit at the warm flesh in front of him. The dagger continuing its work along the front of his body. Chest. Stomach. Coming dangerously close to somewhere Anduin definitely didn’t want it.

“Blue!” He squeaked, wriggling. “ _Blue!_ ”

“Have a bit of trust, cub.” That nickname again, sufficiently distracting him from his concern as the knife-thankfully-was removed from the vicinity. “I know better than to take a blade anywhere near that.”

Movement from the corner of his eye before Nathanos finally came into view. The blade no longer in hand. He dropped his head to his chest. Tongue tracing the wounds on his chest and up along his ribs. Finally taking the nipple that he’d pinched into his mouth. Hands reaching around behind him to grab fistfuls of his ass. Grinning savagely against his chest when his smaller partner keened in surprise. Straightening to claim his mouth a moment later; kissing him so harshly it was almost as if he were attempting to suck the life out of him.

Anduin’s had lulled forward once he was released, lips kiss bruised and puffy. And trickle of drool charting a path towards his chin.

He was only given a momentary breather before a finger was slipped into his mouth. Tongue curling obediently around it. Suckling until Nathanos deemed the coating of saliva sufficient for his purposes and removed it. Prodding at his furled entrance a moment later. Slipping inside with minimal effort.

“Alright?” blue eyes lifted from the floor before him to meet red ones, a mild concern clear in them. He nodded, long hair falling into his face. “No trouble breathing?” He shook his head.

Apparently satisfied that the position he was bound in wasn’t doing him any damage Nathanos completed his rigorous preparations before he once again left his line of sight. Those large calloused hands found his hips again to hold him steady. The tip of his length sliding over his entrance before pushing inside.

Anduin huffed. Head lolling forward again. Another pleasured whine pressing against his teeth. Slipping free of his control once the Blightcaller began to move. One hand reaching around to stroke him in time with his thrusts. The other restricting around his hip with such force he was certain it would leave bruises.

Nathanos grunted. Shifted his angle and pushed the blonde further forward. Increasing his pace. The young King’s pleasure building until he could contain himself no longer. Whimpers and whines and a tide of meaningless noise-pleases and exclamations and repetitions of his name which melted together into an indiscernible spluttering-spilling from his lips. Iridescent colors popping behind his eyes as he finally found release, Nathanos letting go of him before any of it could land on his fingers.   

With Anduin convulsing around him, the older man’s control unraveled soon after. Nathanos shuddered, his grip on his hips spasming, before he pulled free.

“Let’s get you down from this.” He rumbled after a moment’s silence, reaching up to free Anduin from the cuffs around his wrists. Helping him down onto his knees, gasping and shaking, while taking care to prevent him from landing in the puddle left on the floor. A puddle which he treated to a disgusted look as he unhooked the lead and unbuckled the collar. Gently massaging the reddened skin around his neck, allowing the younger man to lean against his chest.

Blood still trickled sluggishly along his skin.

“I’ll attend to mopping _that_ up in a few moments.” He pulled the smaller male with him as he got to his feet. “Come upstairs. I’ll get you cleaned up.”

Anduin couldn’t bring himself to speak, knees threatening to buckle as Nathanos helped him towards the stairs. His shoulders and upper arms ached from being held back in such an odd position but there was a sweet edge to it. Grumbling softly, feeling tired and sated, the blonde tucked his head against his older lover’s shoulder.

Nathanos sighed and paused briefly to pick him up before continuing up the narrow stairs. The Priest wrapped his arms around his neck to retain his balance.

Where the Dark Ranger Lord intended to take him Anduin wasn’t certain but he soon found himself deposited in one of the chairs pulled up to the table in the front room. The same table where he’d treated his shoulder when they’d first visited.

Anduin managed to muster a grunt in protest when he heard Nathanos’ footsteps begin to move away. A low chuckle, followed by a brief touch of a large calloused hand between his bloodied shoulder blades.

“Wait here. I’ll be back in a moment.” With that reassurance given the older man disappeared deeper into the cabin. The distant sound of water falling into a metal basin reached him. Wavering in and out of a state of half-sleep Anduin waited impatiently for Nathanos’ return.

He must have drifted off at some point because he was startled awake when the older male lifted him once again into his arms.

Laughter purred in the Dark Ranger Lord’s chest as he shifted the smaller man’s weight until he fit more securely in his arms. “Tired?”

“No!” Anduin knew that the slight droop of his eyes gave him away but held firm despite this. Nathanos looked amused but didn’t call him out on it and shouldered open the door of the bathroom. Steam curled around them as the larger man kicked the door shut and set him down, though he didn’t release his gentle grip on him.

“Come along. Over here.” The larger man coaxed the little Priest the last few steps across the room.

Anduin, upon reaching the edge of the basin, treated the water inside to a suspicious glare. The Blightcaller’s efforts to keep his snort quiet were met with only partial success and he nudged the young King gently from behind. Wincing at the thought of the markedly unpleasant sensation which would surely result from exposing all of the small cuts he’d acquired to the water, Anduin eased himself into the filled basin.

When the discomfort he expected didn’t come the Priest treated his lover to a look of shock. “You put a pain reliever into my bath?”

Nathanos’ lips twitched but he held back a smirk, gripping the side of the basin as he lowered himself to his knees. “I’m not trying to torture you.” Reaching down into the water, the Blightcaller pulled free a washcloth which Anduin hadn’t noticed; it smelled of medicinal herbs and was tinted a faint shade of green. “Just relax, Anduin.” When the Priest made an effort to reach for the cloth he was met with a reprimanding swat. “Keep those to yourself.”

“But-.”

“No.” Stern red eyes met confused blue ones. The soft, warm cloth was pressed firmly against his chest. Thoroughly cleaning away the drying blood. “Time and again I’ve impressed upon you the fact that care for the submissive is the dominant’s responsibility. All the more in the wake of more risk aware activities.” He said. “Now sit still. This won’t take long.”

“I’m not going to speak out against being pampered.”

Anduin’s tired smile didn’t seem to go terribly far in convincing him if the older man’s snort was anything to go by. The young King reclined against the wall of the basin, tipped his head back against Nathanos’ chest and allowed him to do as he pleased. Taking full advantage of the view of the Dark Ranger Lord’s bare forearms provided by the rolled back sleeves. For a long time, the only sounds were the splashing of the water and the occasional soft command to adjust his position. Finally, the larger man draped the cloth across the edge of the basin and lightly tapped his back.

“Sit forward.” Anduin scooted forward. “Lean back.” With one of his hands supporting the young King’s head, Nathanos kept his face from going entirely underwater. “Close your eyes.” The soft clatter of clay reached his ears as soon as his eyes closed, followed quickly by the sensation of something thick, cold and floral scented being poured onto his head. As strong fingers began to thoroughly work the shampoo into a layer of soft suds the little Priest couldn’t help but purr.

“Lean back.” Nathanos ordered again, covering Anduin’s eyes with one hand as he did so and using the other to chase off the flock of suds. Once he was finished, he ordered him to sit up and gently squeezed what water he could from his smaller partner’s mane of golden hair. “still tired?”

“A little bit.” Anduin said around a yawn, pulling one hand from the cooling water to rub at his eyes. “But I can ride back just fine.”

The darker man grunted and beckoned him out. Wrapping him in a towel once he had and standing up. “I’ll clean up down stairs and bring up your clothes.” He said. “Wait here in the meantime.”

Anduin nodded, following his partner out of the bathroom and down the hall before resuming his seat at the table. Nathanos took a cloth with him when he went back down the stairs. The King took the opportunity to heal the shallow cuts left across his body.

When the larger man returned, he handed him his clothing, looking him over with a nod. “Did you get them all?”

“Most of them.” He stood up and took his clothing. Slipping on his pants and then buttoning up his shirt. Collecting his overcoat from where it had been left in an unceremonious heap on the dusty floor. “I think there are a few on back that I couldn’t reach but they’re shallow and will heal on their own in a couple of days.”

Nathanos grumbled, offering Anduin the collar he’d removed. The blonde smiled and slipped it into the inside pocket of his overcoat. “If they prove irritating to you in any way, I want you marching right down to the infirmary and having them treated.”

Anduin raised an eyebrow. “And how do I explain the knife wounds on my back?”

“You don’t.” The Blightcaller informed him. “Because it’s none of their damned business. You’re the High King and your secrets are your own.”

The Priest couldn’t help but smile. “I suppose you’re right about that much.” He said. “But we should be getting back to Stormwind.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Points of Authority](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18744070) by [Buntheridon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buntheridon/pseuds/Buntheridon)




End file.
